


Reign

by dracoqueen22



Series: Crown the Empire [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Dino-Mode Interfacing, Discussions of Rape Themes, Ethical Dilemmas, Interfactional Relationships, M/M, Minor Character Death, Moral Dilemmas, Political Alliances, Post-War, Potentially Triggery Content, Slow Burn, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Surprise Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-08-13 07:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 123,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7968547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron is dead, and Grimlock has claimed rulership of the Decepticons, where falling for his new Air Commander becomes an unexpected bonus. But there are some who disagree with his ascension, and intend to return the Decepticons to the status quo. Even if it means killing everyone who stands in their way.</p><p>*sequel to Oubliette*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NKfloofiepoof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NKfloofiepoof/gifts).



> I will update the tags, pairings, and characters as they become relevant for each chapter. I'm hoping for you to see the pairings emerge organically, and that it's a pleasant surprise. ^_^
> 
> Song for this chapter: "True Colors," Zedd & Kesha

It was a far cry from the usual Decepticon command meeting. Starscream wasn't sure if he would ever get used to it, despite how much he preferred it. 

There was still posturing and arguing and growled engines and disagreement, but no one limped out of the conference room on a direct route to the medbay. No one had drawn their blaster. Starscream hadn't been backhanded once. 

It was downright amicable for the Decepticons. 

“Do I really need to be here?” Knock Out demanded. He lounged in his chair as though he took part in a photoshoot. His plating was polished to a spectacular shine. 

Starscream was impressed the medic could get anything done with how much time he spent primping. Maybe he'd been premature when he said there was no posturing. He hadn’t taken Knock Out into account. 

“Yes,” Starscream said, maybe closer to a snap, but Knock Out's personality grated on him. If Starscream had a more qualified Decepticon to put in Knock Out's place, he would. But there was no way he would pull a Constructicon permanently out of prison and make one of them his CMO. 

The Autobots and Neutrals would both have a fit. It didn't matter that it wasn't their jurisdiction. It didn't matter that the Decepticons were understaffed of qualified mechs. It was about image. Giving an unrepentant rapist a position of power was the epitome of stupidity. 

Grimlock wouldn't go for it anyway. And Grimlock had the final say. 

It didn't matter that Starscream struggled to find able-bodied mechs to fill command slots. He could either do without or start outsourcing. He wasn't going to put anyone who had grossly mistreated the Autobots into a position of power, politics or not. 

In fact, he had a hard enough time keeping them alive much less putting them in command of anything. There were still multiple Autobots calling for the execution of every Decepticon who had taken advantage of their prisoners. 

“As heinous as I find their actions, we cannot ignore the fact that we need the Constructicons,” Cyclonus said, perhaps in a bid to get them back to the task at hand and ignore Knock Out's whining. 

“We are not allowing them free rein.” Starscream tried to get comfortable on his chair. It had not been designed for a mech with wings. “Usefulness isn't going to get them a free pass. They deserve to be punished.” He also wasn't entirely certain they knew they had done wrong. 

Megatron's reprogramming had worked a little too well. The Constructicons had found it difficult to disobey anything Megatron allowed them. It wasn't that they were Decepticon and therefore evil, but that the Robosmasher tended to give any reprogrammed Autobots a moral compass that aligned with Megatron's. And Megatron's did not point in any direction but toward self-satisfaction, personal gain, and the destruction of others. 

“Then we are considering parole?” Cyclonus asked without looking up from his datapad. 

He was dull and dour, Starscream reflected, but since Thundercracker had turned down Starscream's offer of third in command, he'd had to extend the candidate pool. Cyclonus had always been a quiet, unassuming Decepticon. But he hadn't hesitated when it came time to overthrow Megatron, and he had shown no interest in owning a slave after his arrival on Cyberton. His unit was even well-behaved. 

He was a good choice for third in command. Though Starscream still hated that Soundwave hadn't stuck around. Frag if Soundwave wasn't predictable though. He sure did attach himself to Optimus quickly enough. 

“Strict parole,” Grimlock said, leaning back in his chair. He effected a lazy nonchalance, but Starscream knew he was as invested in this discussion as anyone else at the table. With the exclusion of Knock Out. “Tracking devices. Supervision. And never all at once.” 

“Make it clear it is a punishment,” Starscream mused. He leaned against the table, bracing his chin on his palm. “Duty restrictions. Access restrictions. Confine them to their cells when they are not on duty. Strict rationing.” 

“No pay,” Cyclonus added. “Since we are trying to build a functional economy, the lack of pay can be considered a loss of privilege. They must work to earn their energon, but anything beyond that is a privilege.” 

Starscream nodded as he rapped his fingers on top of the table. “That sounds fair. As well as more acceptable to those who might cry mistreatment of prisoners.” In Starscream’s opinion, they did not need better treatment. 

Pah. If he hadn't needed them so fragging much, Starscream would have preferred to line every last one of them up for a firing squad. Or immediate reprogramming. But apparently those actions were equally repellent and should only be used in the most dire of circumstances. 

That sort of soft-sparked thinking was what had cost the Autobots the war. He still hadn't decided if having Grimlock as the Decepticon Lord meant they’d improved or not. 

Well, Grimlock hadn't backhanded him into a wall yet. He supposed that was something. 

“Remove their weaponry,” Cyclonus continued as though he read from a list. “Lock their t-cog. They can use non-integrated instruments the same as any non-medical framed field medic does. For construction work, only enable it during their established shifts.”

“All acceptable,” Starscream mused. His clawtips rapped harder on the table. “They'll need supervision. Trustworthy mechs who can't be bribed and who are firmly loyal.” 

Starscream wasn't stupid. He knew there were a good many Decepticons who only pretended to accept the change in regime, perhaps hoping to band together and someday overthrow Grimlock and Starscream and return to the status quo. It would not happen under his watch; he swore this. He was sure he could sniff out the insincere in time. But for now, only those he absolutely trusted. 

“I would trust any from my unit,” Cyclonus said flaty. “That is at least ten mechs capable of performing parole duty.” 

“No more than two at a time,” Grimlock said. He shifted in his chair, the makeshift piece of furniture groaning beneath him. “They are not allowed to go to Polyhex unless Optimus Prime makes a request. They can only work the third shift in the medcenter, if at all.” 

All non-negotiable restrictions. Grimlock had spoken. He allowed rebuttal in private, but he did not like being questioned in public. He said that if he was going to be the Decepticon leader, he couldn't be seen as anything but sovereign. At least for now. 

“Agreed,” Cyclonus said. 

Starscream cycled a ventilation. “So glad we can agree,” he said. “Now let's talk about some of the others. You know, the non-useful ones who are exceedingly violent and don't deserve the energon we're feeding them.” 

Cyclonus gave him a bland look. 

Grimlock cycled his vocalizer. “All of the Phase Sixers have been neutralized,” he pointed out. “And Cliffjumper executed Blitzwing. You'll have to be more specific.” 

Starscream rolled his optics. “How about Motormaster and the two degenerates he has left? Or Thrust? Considering that he and his trinemates killed one of the Autobot slaves.” 

Air Commander or not, Starscream was not about to stand up and protect Thrust when he'd seen what mess the Coneheads had dumped in the medcenter. There was no hope of saving Beachcomber, but they'd dropped his mangled frame in front of Ratchet anyway, just to be cruel. They'd known sharing a minibot among them was unacceptable and they'd done it anyway. 

So, no. Starscream would not defend them. If it was his choice, he'd strip Thrust of his wings and let that be his punishment. Mechs like that did not deserve to fly. They did not deserve to be called mechs. 

“If we start executing those mechs, how quickly will it be before the other Decepticons turn on us?” Cyclonus asked. He put down his datapad with a soft click, folding his hands over him. “Their actions were heinous, one cannot deny that. It would have been fortunate had they been offlined in the revolt, but they were not. Now we must deal with them as they are. Can you imagine the riots we'd face if we lined them up and executed them?” 

“It would save us all a lot of time and energy,” Starscream retorted. 

“It's not politically sound,” Cyclonus said. “For we also must ask ourselves where to draw the line. There is not a single one of us, myself included I shamefully admit, who has not committed one atrocity or another during the length of the war.” 

Grimlock's helm lowered, his visor shifting to a darker hue. “Cyclonus is right,” he said, and Starscream shot him a startled look. He would have expected Grimlock to favor the immediate approach. 

“The time isn't right for execution,” Grimlock said. “Not without a trial.” 

“We're a military unit, not a civilian government,” Starscream hissed. “And if you're worried about Decepticons thinking you're too Autobot, you're missing the mark. Megatron never bothered with anything like trials.” 

“Which is why we should,” Cyclonus said, nodding. “If we're going to put anyone to death, we need to prove to the rest of the soldiers why there is no other option for justice. Especially given that the Prime might protest the loss of life, and that our population is so decreased.” 

Starscream folded his arms over his cockpit. “I would rather our population lose mechs like them as opposed to allowing them to live to round out our numbers.” He snorted. “But fine. Throw them in prison. Smelt the key. Leave them to rot. I will not, however, approve parole.” 

Cyclonus tilted his helm. “Fair enough. They can remain in prison until we have mechs to serve on a proper judgment board.” 

“What about Shockwave?” Knock Out demanded. 

Starscream blinked. He'd forgotten the medic was present.

Knock Out's pedes hit the floor with a clack as he pushed himself upright from his lounge. “Can I let old one optic out or not? Because the Autobots keep requesting that I help them fix their broken frontliners and from what I've seen, I can't do it without Shockwave.” 

Starscream fought down a shudder. Rapist, Shockwave was not. At least, not to the extent of the others. But that did not make him any more palatable. Starscream had seen some of the research Shockwave was responsible for. While Starscream couldn't duplicate half of it, understand a fourth of it, or fix the latter fourth, he understood enough to make himself feel ill. Shockwave dabbled in things no mech in their right mind should touch. 

“Shockwave is loyal to Megatron,” Grimlock said in a bored tone. He'd settled comfortably back into his chair, but he started to look as though he needed a break. 

They all were. They'd been at this for a while, to be fair. There was so much to be done that these management meetings took place twice a day. An Earth day, even, which was a distressingly short amount of time for a Cybertronian, no matter how much they had adapted to Earth’s units. 

Starscream shook his helm. “No. Shockwave is loyal to science. But unless someone reins him in, he'll do whatever morally deplorable research he can get away with. He has no ethical boundaries, and there's nothing he holds sacred, save his science.” 

“Then he can be reasoned with,” Cyclonus said.

Cyclonus was, Starscream thought dourly, almost painfully practical. He would probably get along with Shockwave, save that Cyclonus had a moral center and Shockwave did not. Also, there was not a humorous strut in Cyclonus' frame. It made him an excellent commander, but Starscream knew they would never be friends. 

Cyclonus didn't hate Starscream, but he wasn't fond of Starscream either. Luckily, the feeling was mutual. Cyclonus respected Grimlock. That was what mattered. 

Grimlock, at least, was a mech worthy of respect. Even if he was a former Autobot. Starscream tried not to hold that against him. 

“He can be made useful,” Starscream conceded. His wings twitched. “Unfortunately, reprogramming would render his usefulness moot, and he's far too intelligent to be shackled by mere inhibitors.” 

“Which makes it difficult for us to release him on parole,” Cyclonus acknowledged. 

Starscream sighed. He resisted the urge to bang his forehelm on the table. He had let himself forget, while fighting so hard to wrest control away from Megatron, how very boring these sorts of conversations could be. Especially when one had to debate politely and consider all options, including the political ones. 

War seemed simpler in comparison. You shoot; you kill. To the victor went the spoils and the right to decide history. 

How was Grimlock managing not to fall asleep at the table?

“Him Shockwave deserve death,” Grimlock growled, reverting to his unintelligent accent. 

Something he did, Starscream noticed, when his concentration was derailed by stronger emotion, in this case probably his hatred and loathing for Shockwave. Grimlock had killed Megatron and given the chance, would probably kill Shockwave as well. After all, Shockwave was the reason Swoop no longer took to the skies without hesitation. 

“There are many who do.” Cyclonus tapped his datapad. “We unfortunately cannot choose this option at the moment.” 

Grimlock's visor flashed with menace. Cyclonus held his ground. As much as he hated it, Starscream knew Cyclonus was right. 

“If we are to show mercy to the others, then we must show mercy to Shockwave as well,” Starscream said and rubbed a hand down his faceplate. “Now matter how loathsome it is.” 

Grimlock’s engine rumbled, but he did not protest. For which Starscream was thankful. He did not want to debate this for the rest of the meeting. 

The Autobots would be allowed to consult with Shockwave. Should they chose to take him into custody, however briefly, they would be responsible for his incarceration. Given good behavior, Shockwave’s parole could be extended. 

If Starscream had his way, Shockwave would be stripped of his frame and shoved into spark prison, like he had done to the Combaticons so many millennia ago. 

The suggestion was met with approval. Spark prison was more acceptable than execution. At least it wasn’t death. 

“Since that’s settled, might I be excused,” Knock Out asked with a huff. He flicked one hand into the air. “There is work to be done, and I am not a commander.” 

Grimlock’s visor flattened. “Go.” 

Knock Out shoved to his pedes, dipped his torso in something resembling a bow, and made himself scarce. 

He was the lucky one, Starscream remarked sourly. For there were many others left to discuss. 

They agreed to let Reflector out on parole, subject to the same restrictions as the Constructicons. While he wasn't needed as he had no useful skills at the moment, his worst offense was filming atrocities. He never participated. Reflector, also, was not particularly loyal to Megatron as he was loyal to whomever provided his energon. 

He wanted to be on the winning team. 

Reflector was considered low risk. He would be given a tracking collar, an inhibitor chip, and assigned to work in energon production. Starscream doubted he would complain about it. 

Motormaster and his two subordinates would stay in prison for now. Motormaster remained loyal to Megatron and Megatron alone, and he'd levied threats against Starscream the last time he'd gone down to the brig. Starscream had been unimpressed, but that hadn't stopped Motormaster from throwing himself at the energy bars and paying little heed to the strips the electricity peeled from his plating. 

Drag Strip had echoed his commander. Breakdown had said nothing. Starscream wondered if there was any hope for the idiot Stunticon. Perhaps with time. They had more pressing matters, however. The Stunticons could keep and right now, they had no serviceable skills to get them an early pass. 

Barricade was also a loyalist. With time, Starscream was certain he could sway the interrogator to his side, but he didn't have that at the moment. So Barricade would stay in the brig, too. 

The Insecticons were an interesting matter. They'd owned the Autobot scientist, but like Bluestreak, Perceptor had never come to harm. Other than out of neglect when they had simply forgotten they had him, and therefore, forgot to feed him. 

In the end, they'd agreed to free the Insecticons and set them loose for clean-up on Cybertron. With their ability to consume anything for energy, they were useful at getting rid of scrap that wasn't able to be recycled. They seemed happy for the opportunity, and didn't particularly care who was in charge of the Decepticons. They would have a rotating team of supervisors to make sure they stayed on task, and away from the rebuilding populace in Nova Cronum, Iacon, and Polyhex. 

It was a fairly productive meeting. But it was also long, and by the time Cyclonus brought up the next topic, Starscream wanted to gouge a furrow into the table. He was exhausted, he was bored, and he needed a break. 

“I think that's enough for today,” Starscream said as he pushed up from the table. “There's plenty enough work to do that we can discuss the rest of it tomorrow, don't you think?” 

Cyclonus blinked and slanted a look at Grimlock, but their famous leader had his helm tilted back and looked to be recharging. Starscream knew he wasn't. Grimlock liked to pretend to be the idiotic brute, but he was far from it. He paid attention to everything, even when you thought he wasn't. 

“Then I'll attend to the aforementioned prisoners,” Cyclonus said as he stood, gathering up his datapads. 

He was taller than Starscream, broader too, but Starscream tried not to let that irritate him. Much. He flicked a hand in dismissal and watched Cyclonus stride from the room. If he didn't know better, he would have suspected that Cyclonus was made of the same noble stock as Prime's pet spy. 

Grimlock didn't stir until the door shut and they were left alone. Starscream edged out from around the table and moved to the window, stretching his arms over his helm. Every cable felt kinked. Maybe he should take a quick flight, out and over Iacon and then back again. 

His wings twitched. Starscream felt as though he were being watched. He glanced over his shoulder. 

Sure enough, Grimlock had pointed his visor in Starscream's direction. He sat up in his chair, a lit datapad on the table in front of him, but he didn’t offer it a bit of attention. 

Starscream snorted and returned his gaze to the window. “Enjoy your nap?” 

“Cyclonus was a good choice,” Grimlock said, ignoring Starscream's snide comment. He often did that. He never engaged. “He is a voice of reason.” 

“Oh, and I'm not?”

Grimlock chuckled. “Do you want me to answer that?” 

No, he did not. Starscream huffed and abandoned the window, returning to his chair. He did not throw himself into it, but it was a near thing. 

“All right, leader,” he said, retrieving the necessary datapads. “Time to make some decisions so I can go and have a flight before this list gets any longer. Or dare I say it, unmanageable.” 

Grimlock draped himself over the side of the table. “If we must.” 

“I think we should focus on making residences first,” Starscream said as he flicked through various screens on the datapad. “Happy Decepticons make for less rowdy Decepticons which means fewer Decepticons residing in the brig. That way I don't have to look at Metalhawk's snide little smirk across the table at our next meeting.” 

Grimlock made a noncommittal noise. Starscream took that to be acceptance. If the Dinobot commander truly disagreed, he had no problems saying so. But he seemed content to let Starscream do his thing, only offering an opinion when he felt it was warranted. 

To be trusted with that much independence, it was a novel thing. 

“Right now, they are stacked up in barracks.” With the exception of the command staff, of course. Starscream was not about to share his space with anyone. It was one of his few indulgences. “We should consider individual spaces. They don't have to be large.” 

“Mm hm.” Grimlock shifted closer as though peering over Starscream's arm at the datapad. 

Starscream rolled his optics. “You really don't care about this, do you?” 

“I care,” Grimlock said, but he didn't sound excited. “I just don't see where you're saying something I need to object to.” 

Oh. 

Starscream worked his intake, unexpectedly pleased and flattered by the remark. He dragged his gaze back to the datapad, well aware that his wings fluttered again. Damn it. 

“Our energon stores are still in good shape even with the added mouths. We should experience no strain by the time we get the space bridge functioning again,” Starscream continued, going down the list as quickly as possible. 

Something touched his left wing panel. His armor twitched, sensory panel sending him an alert. Starscream froze and turned slowly to see Grimlock leaning close to him, hand drawing back. One finger had stroked the edge of his wing. 

Starscream stared. “What...,” he demanded, “was that?” It had not hurt, but it had been most unexpected. Sure, they'd had their tussle and Starscream was used to mechs thinking they could walk up and grab any Seeker's wing. But he hadn't expected Grimlock to do it. 

Girmlock returned his stare evenly. “Curiosity.” 

Starscream's optics narrowed. “Don't do it again,” he bit out. It didn't matter that the bare touch had sent a jolt through him. Or that it was better for a surprise to be one of pleasure, rather than pain. He’d had enough of people touching him without his permission. 

“Why?” Grimlock asked. 

Surely he couldn't be that stupid?

Starscream glared all the harder. His wings went rigid, tilting away from Grimlock as did the rest of his frame. “It doesn't matter why. All that matters is I told you not to.” 

“Fair enough.” Grimlock shifted out of his personal space. He snagged the datapad and dragged it closer. “I apologize.” 

“Good.” Starscream gave him another sidelong look and returned his attention to his datapad. “Because we have work to do.” His wings flicked, betraying his annoyance. “Regarding our energon production--”

“Is your sole objection the fact that I didn't ask?” Grimlock asked, clearly determined to not complete the business they needed to conclude today. 

Starscream gritted his denta. “This is important.” He tapped the table next to the datapad. 

Grimlock’s expression did not waver. There was something considering about it. 

It was a familiar sight. Starscream remembered it decorating Grimlock's frame language when they had scrapped for leadership of the Decepticons. He remembered Grimlock's field spiking with interest before it fizzled away into nothing as though it had never existed it all. Starscream had begun to think he imagined it. 

Grimlock shrugged as his visor started to take on a darker hue, one that Starscream began to think meant he was scheming. “So are a lot of things. But you didn't answer my question. I'll try a different one.” He leaned a little closer, dropping his vocals into a darker register. “May I touch your wings, Starscream?” 

His spark skipped an unexpected beat. Grimlock's tone was utterly sincere, lacking even a track of mockery. It was as genuine as his apology had been earlier. Still...

“Why?” Starscream demanded. His datapad hit the table with a click. Clearly, they weren't focusing on business anytime soon. 

“They're fascinating.” Grimlock's helm tilted as though trying to get a better view of Starscream's wings. Under the increased scrutiny, they twitched. “A lot like their owner. You are a bundle of contradictions.” 

Starscream squinted. Was that a compliment or not? No. He wasn't going to sit here and try to parse this. He was done trying to read into the complexities behind the incomprehensible actions of others. He'd had enough of that with Megatron. 

He drew up straight, staring down at his errant leader. “I don't know what you think you've heard, Dinobot, but I am not an easy frag,” Starscream hissed. He would turn around and become an Autobot before he put up with this slag again. “You can't just grope me and expect I'm going to jump into the berth with you.” 

Grimlock shrugged and reached across the table, snagging Starscream's abandoned datapad and dragging it closer. “I haven't heard anything. Except you stating that you're uninterested in which case I will leave you be and we can get back to business.” He tapped a finger on the screen. “You were saying something about our energon stores?” 

Starscream stared at him. 

Grimlock met his gaze evenly. “Or would you rather I left?”

His leader truly was incomprehensible. Starscream was, for once, at a complete loss for words. He didn't know what to say. 

“I see,” Grimlock said. He pushed back his chair and rose to his pedes. “We can talk later. When Cyclonus can join us again.” 

He was actually leaving. Starscream stared at Grimlock, uncertain if it was an Autobot thing or a Dinobot thing, or a Grimlock thing. 

“Why?” he asked. 

Grimlock paused halfway around the table. “Because I've made you uncomfortable.” 

“No, I mean...” Starscream made a vague gesture, frustrated by his inability to articulate his thoughts. That had never happened before. “What did you think you were doing?” 

Grimlock's visor darkened in hue. “I misread your signals. That was my mistake.” He paused and barely audible, Starscream heard his engine growl. “And I am not Megatron.” 

Starscream snorted. “That much is obvious. I'd be halfway bent over that table by now if you were.” He didn't realize what he'd admitted until it was too late. 

Ugh. 

Starscream grimaced and folded his arms over his chestplate. His and Megatron's relationship was complicated, and he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to dissect, he didn't want to pick apart all the reasons why they were in and out of each other's berth, just as unwillingly as it was willingly. And he didn't want to examine why it worsened their working relationship as much as it fixed it. 

Just. No. 

He also didn't want to bring that complicated slag into what he currently had. He liked Grimlock. It surprised him, and no one was more shocked than Starscream who thought he was stuck with a dumb brute and actually ended up with a competent, compelling and strong leader. But the last thing he needed was interfacing to complicate matters. No matter how much he might be attracted to Grimlock. 

The Dinobot came back around the table, his expression damn unreadable and his energy field the same. He didn't feel like Cybertronians, Starscream had noticed. There was a different cant to his fields, a more organic bend that made it difficult to read him. He could never tell what Grimlock was thinking. 

That was worrisome at times. And then he reminded himself that Grimlock didn't generally backhand his subordinates. He didn't need to be able to read random shifts in Grimlock's energy field. 

“Boundaries,” Grimlock said. He pulled out a chair, sat down in it and folded one ankle across the opposite knee. He propped an elbow on the table. 

Starscream cycled his optics. “Excuse me?” 

Grimlock tapped the table with one finger. “Right here, right now. What are they?” 

Had he walked into an alternate dimension? Starscream cycled a ventilation. He backed toward his own seat, lowering himself down to it. 

“What?” 

“I don't touch you,” Grimlock said, his tone almost earnest. “I don't invite you to share a berth with me. What other boundaries should I keep?” 

“I don't...” Starscream scraped a hand down his face, his wings fluttering before he could tell them to be still. “That's not, well, thank you, I guess. For the consideration. No. Don't touch me unless I invite you. As for the other... we'll see.” 

Grimlock tilted his helm. He made an approving noise. “Whatever makes you comfortable. I'm not Megatron,” he repeated. Again. As though Starscream hadn't heard him the first time. “I won't ever be Megatron.” 

“Good.” Starscream nodded and slid his gaze to the abandoned datapads. “We don't need a Megatron. Can we get back to what's important now?” 

“That was important,” Grimlock retorted but it came off more as a mutter, and a petulant one at that. 

It was almost cute enough to make Starscream smile. 

They tried to get back to work. Starscream expected it to be as awkward as the conversation, but Grimlock meant what he said. He was perfectly polite. He kept a respectful distance. He only talked about the issues on the docket. No matter how ridiculous some of them were. 

It was kind of novel. It still left Starscream curious. 

“What signals?” 

Grimlock, who had been in the middle of reading the proposal for a burial house for the deceased Decepticons, lifted his gaze toward Starscream. His unreadable field flickered. “Signals?” 

“The ones you misread,” Starscream clarified. It had been nagging at him for a while now. He was the least bit flirtatious. In fact, most mechs told him his general behavior was off-putting, and only the rumor that he was good in the berth kept them coming back to ask. 

“Ah.” Grimlock noisily cleared his vocalizer, visor taking on a brighter hue, until Starscream realized that what he witnessed was Grimlock _embarrassed_. “Your wings.” 

“What about them?” 

“They were moving.” Grimlock made a vague gesture. 

Starscream popped an orbital ridge. “They often do. For a number of reasons.” 

“I was... _misinformed_ about how to interpret them,” Grimlock said. He shifted on his chair, out of embarrassment Starscream dared guess. 

Now Starscream was intrigued. And more than a little amused. He was used to seeing his new leader confident and in control and a little bit stand-offish. A squirming, apologetic and embarrassed Grimlock was an entirely different thing.

“By who?” Starscream asked. 

Grimlock cycled a loud ventilation and swept a hand over his helm. “Spent a lot of time waiting for the Autobots to need us.” This he said with obvious bitterness. Grimlock might be friendly with Optimus Prime, but even Starscream knew there was an underlying tension there. “Hated being stupid. But Wheeljack knew. Understood. He helped us learn. Gave us access to Teletraan and brought us datapads.” 

“Datapads,” Starscream repeated. “Written by other Autobots, I imagine. Autobots who, by and large, are not winged.” 

Grimlock rolled his shoulders. “It was actually based on Praxians, but I figured it couldn't be far off the mark. Besides, the only flight-mechs I ever knew were on the other end of my blaster.” He paused, helm tilting and visor light flattening in a matter that Starscream had learned indicated distaste. “Except the Aerialbots and they weren't answering questions.” 

“They were young. They didn't have the benefit of being mentored by actual flyers.” The Aerialbots had promise. Starscream regretted having to execute them. But Megatron wouldn't see reason, and Starscream couldn't imagine a world where he could win the Aerialbots to his side. Not so long as Silverbolt was devoted to Optimus Prime. 

Starscream remained convinced Megatron ripping out Skyfire's spark had been meant as a punishment. Even if Megatron had ordered they execute every flight-capable mech, Megatron had made Skyfire's death personal. He wanted to hurt Starscream, but also, he wanted revenge. 

The Pit hath no fury like a Decepticon leader faced with a mech who had all but spat in his face, rejecting his leadership. Starscream would know that better than anyone. 

“You were badly misinformed,” Starscream added and then gave Grimlock a long look. “You like flyers then?” 

“They fascinate me.” The light behind Grimlock's visor shifted toward Starscream's wings. 

He gave them an experimental twitch on purpose. Yes. Grimlock was definitely looking at them. Well, he wouldn't be the first mech who wanted to touch them. Starscream also wouldn't be surprised if Grimlock didn't often touch mechs other than the other Dinobots. The Autobots’ mistreatment of the Dinobot was well-documented. 

Paragons of virtue? Hah. 

Starscream sat forward a little, tilting his frame toward Grimlock. “All right,” he said. “You can touch them. I trust you know how to do that without breaking them?” 

Grimlock snorted a ventilation. He ignored the insinuation and scooted to his pedes. He towered over Starscream, and he carried much more mass, but somehow, he didn't loom. It was a curious effect, but Starscream preferred it. Megatron had made effort to loom. He projected his presence as though seeking to constantly dominate. 

Grimlock's presence was equally dominating, but only in the sense that it was recognized because he was cognizant of it. Starscream didn't know what datapads Grimlock had been reading to pick up these subtle aspects of leadership. Perhaps he should borrow them for himself. 

Either way, it worked. It made him a mech Starscream was willing to follow, if he couldn't lead for himself. 

The first touch was not hesitant, but it was given with care. Fingertips brushed the end of Starscream left wing and then skated the edge of it, across what was technically the trailing end were he in alt-mode. 

Despite dampening his sensors ahead of time, Starscream felt every brush of Grimlock's fingers. Yes, wings were sensitive. But it was only the extreme touches that tended to evoke a response. Grips hard enough to dent sent immediate trills of pain to his processor. These he did not have to worry about. Delicate brushes of fingertips set his sensors ablaze. He had not expected Grimlock to go that route. 

Girmlock's fingers were warm. They did not shake. He touched with confidence, a near reverence. Starscream's ventilations dared to quicken, and he hid their sudden noise with a systems check. He turned his helm, watching Grimlock's slow exploration and intent focus. 

Fingers traced armor panel edges and brushed over the brands on the flat planes of his wings. That Starscream hadn't expected either. Then again, Grimlock had not hesitated to replace the Autobrand with a Decepticon badge. 

“They are only labels,” he'd said. 

He'd been created on Earth. He had no true, spark-deep allegiance to anyone, save perhaps his creators. Grimlock respected them far more than any other Autobot. He would fight to protect them. But he did not feel a particular kinship with the Autobots. Or the Decepticons rather. 

Choosing to take down the Decepticons and claim them had been about making a statement. It had been about ending a war he didn't care to fight and proving that he was more than the mindless beast so many saw him and his team as. 

It worked. 

The pad of Grimlock's hand touched his wing now. Long, slow strokes down the leading edge of it. Starscream failed to conceal a shiver and when he looked at Grimlock, he saw that Grimlock looked right back at him. 

“Are they as sensitive as rumors claim?” Grimlock asked. 

_Stroke, stroke, stroke_. It was repetitive, like petting an Earth feline. It sent a low buzz through Starscream's sensory net, like getting a massage. He almost yanked the wing out of Grimlock's hand and demand he do the same to the other side. 

“It depends on the circumstance,” Starscream answered and blinked. His vocals came out soft and glitchy. 

Grimlock's fingers slid along the top edge again, this time all the way to the hinges. He brushed over the joint, and an unexpected shock of pleasure flashed through Starscream's system. He shivered and worked his intake. That particular shiver had gone all the way to his groin, nestling in around his array. 

“Does this one count?” Grimlock asked, and there it was now, that pulse of heat in his vocals mixed with mischief. 

How was he supposed to answer that?

Starscream's comm pinged. He absolutely did not startle and jerk away from Grimlock as though someone had poked him with an energon rod. 

“What is it?” he snapped as he activated his comm, spark pulsing a faster rhythm in his chest. He turned away from Grimlock for some privacy, feeling an unexpected heat in his faceplate. 

“Uhhh.” Skywarp's vocals popped through the comm, sounding startled. “Weren't we supposed to meet for flight maneuvers ten minutes ago?”

Starscream blinked. He wouldn't say he'd forgotten that he was training with his trinemates this afternoon, but it had slipped his mind. There was so much to do right now that the simple pleasure had seemed less important. 

“We were,” Starscream replied. “I apologize. I was in the middle of a discussion.” Sure. That's what he intended to call it. 

He allowed Grimlock to grope his wings out of some unusual interest in his leader – apparently, that was Starscream's type, mechs who were no good for him. 

“With Vortex?” 

Starscream blinked, more than a little confused. “No. Why would I be?” 

“Because he was looking for you earlier. Said he had a question. I told him you were in meetings all day. So are you coming or not?” 

A hand skipped from his left wing to his right, the latter of which was now easier to reach for Grimlock as Starscream had turned away. He fought down another shiver, his sensory net springing to life in the wake of the gentle touch. Grimlock examined his hinges as though he'd never seen such things before. 

Starscream should tell him to stop, that it wasn't going to help their working relationship. Except he didn't want to. 

“Starscream?” 

He shook himself, casting a glare over his shoulder, but Grimlock stared back at him. “Should I stop?” he asked. 

Probably. 

“No,” Starscream said, both to Grimlock and Skywarp. He held Grimlock's gaze, an unexpected heat winding through his circuits. “See if Swoop would like to join you.” 

“What? Really? The _Dinobot_?” Skywarp sounded on the verge of whining. 

Another hand joined the party. Starscream had one on each wing now, a light but deliberate weight that he was very aware of. 

“Yes, Skywarp, the Dinobot.” Starscream barely kept from rolling his optics. “Knock Out says that he is cleared for flight, but he needs to be accompanied in case he glitches. Think you can handle that?” 

Skywarp muttered something that Starscream was not paying attention enough to catch. “I'm gonna make TC do it,” he said. “You're no fun anymore, Screamer. Enjoy your stupid meeting.” The comm clicked shut without so much as a farewell. Typical Skywarp, to be fair. 

Hot ex-vents ghosted against his back. His sensors registered a presence, but the only physical sensation were those ex-vents and the continuous petting of large hands. Starscream's wings were utterly still, soaking up the sensation. 

“Do you intend to finish what you started, Dinobot?” 

Grimlock chuckled. “I thought you weren't interested?” 

“Mn. This and that are two different things.” Starscream flexed his wings toward Grimlock, encouraging more of the exploratory touches. Especially as thick fingers pushed through plating seams and flirted with the cable bundles beneath. 

Grimlock made a noncommittal noise. Starscream felt him get closer, felt his very presence within inches of Starscream's wings. His odd field drizzled against Starscream’s own, buzzing with intent.

“How far are you going to let me go?” Grimlock asked. His hands swept the length of Starscream's wings until they met his spinal strut. Only then did his fingers flirt downward until they settled on Starscream's hips with a light touch as though seeking permission. 

Starscream tossed his helm, half-turning to catch Grimlock in his peripheral vision. “Is this going to ruin our working relationship?”

“Not if we don't want it to,” Grimlock replied. His hands settled a bit more firmly around Starscream's waist, his thumbs stroking a searing path up Starscream's backstrut. “Though I can certainly stop if you don't think the risk is worth it.” 

Starscream shivered. “It depends,” he purred, arching his backstrut and pushing back toward Grimlock. “How good are you in the berth?”

Grimlock's helm slid against his, a susurrous of metal on metal that sent a frisson of sensation over Starscream's dermal net. “No one's complained. Though I'm going to have to be careful with you. I hear Seekers are delicate.” 

Starscream snorted, flicking back a wing to swat Grimlock. “Not this one,” he retorted and clasped his hands down on Grimlock's, squeezing them. “You may have beat me in combat, but this is an entirely different battlefield.” 

“Then I guess there's only way to find out.” Grimlock pressed against him, his engine rumbling and vibrating through his armor against the flat planes of Starscream's wings. “Are you in?”

Starscream pushed back, rolling his aft against Grimlock's pelvic array. “I'm in.”

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song, "Warriors," Imagine Dragons

Starscream was _this_ close to hating his new lord and master.  
  
He gasped and clawed at the table as Grimlock's fingers worked magic on his wings, stroking the thin panels and tracing the long seams. Grimlock's knee applied a steady, but infuriating pressure against his interface panel. He leaked through his seams, Starscream was sure of it. His valve clenched, and his spike throbbed, and Grimlock was absolutely _merciless_.  
  
“Frag me already!” Starscream demanded for the second time this afternoon. He threw his helm back, wings flicking against Grimlock's hands.  
  
The Dinobot's dark chuckle slithered down Starscream's spinal strut and pooled in his valve. He clenched down on nothing. But he'd be damned if he opened his panels and leaked all over Grimlock's armor and rutted on the Dinobot’s thigh like some kind of mindless beast. He would have a spike in his valve or nothing at all!  
  
Grimlock curled a large hand around Starscream's waist, and pressed his chestplate against Starscream's back. His powerful engine rumbled and sent a steady vibration across the broad planes of Starscream's wings. He was unrelenting heat, a wash of it against Starscream's frame.  
  
Starscream moaned. His shoulders hunched as pleasure streaked like lightning through his lines. His array rippled again, demanding stimulation. It wasn't fair, Starscream bemoaned. It wasn't fair at all.  
  
“No,” Grimlock finally said. His hand slid down Starscream's ventrum to his groin. Two fingers rubbed a firm pressure on his panel. “Open up.”  
  
Starscream gritted his denta and clawed a dent into the table. “Not until you agree to frag me!”  
  
“I thought that's what we were doing.” Grimlock's mild tone had been designed to infuriate, Starscream was sure of this.  
  
“No. You're teasing me!” Starscream hissed. He had half a mind to kick the Dinobot leader away from him and take what he wanted. This was fragging ridiculous.  
  
Grimlock rolled his frame against Starscream. Their armor dragged together, sending a susurrous of sensation through Starscream's frame. He gnawed on his bottom lip.  
  
“I've been told Seekers need lots of foreplay,” Grimlock said and yes, his tone was definitely ripe with amusement.  
  
Grimlock rocked his hips again and rubbed his fingers over Starscream's panel, just enough pressure that Starscream could feel a brush against his swollen external node. Another lightning strike of pleasure made him arch, jerking in Grimlock’s hold.  
  
Primus help him.  
  
His panel snapped aside, leaving room for Grimlock's fingers to nudge against his nub. Starscream gasped, helm tossing as Grimlock circled his anterior node over and over again. The slick glide of his finger encouraged Starscream’s hips to follow the route. His valve clenched, more lubricant trickling free. His spike pressurized in a snap, leaking transfluid.  
  
His entire frame trembled, overload clawing for attention, demanding to tip him over.  
  
“You and your damn datapads!” Starscream snarled just as Grimlock flicked over his anterior node again.  
  
Starscream tossed his helm back and overloaded, valve clenching down on nothing and raining a sticky splatter of lubricant down. His calipers rippled, his vents roared, and his hands clawed at the table. Grimlock purred against his back, gentling his touch to extend Starscream's overload without hurting him.  
  
When and how he'd learned to do that, Starscream didn't know. But he enjoyed every second of his overload until he sagged against the table, vents whirring and pleasure thrumming through his circuits. Little snaps of static crept out from beneath his armor.  
  
“That's one,” Grimlock said, sounding unbearably smug.  
  
His finger dipped down, passing Starscream's nub to slide into Starscream's valve, now wet and open and willing. Starscream shivered as Grimlock's admittedly large finger slid into his valve, delicately stroking the still buzzed sensor nodes. It curled just right, brushing over the little cluster of sensors behind the anterior curve of Starscream’s rim.  
  
“Are you going to count them all?” Starscream demanded.  
  
“I might.” Grimlock nuzzled against his helm from behind and gripped Starscream's hip, rolling his pelvis against Starscream's aft.  
  
A second finger slipped in to join the first, and Starscream bit back a moan. His cooling fans whirred, vibrating his entire frame. He ground down, working Grimlock's fingers deeper and cycled up to another overload. One? Pah. That was the start of clearing out his charge.  
  
Grimlock’s frame thrummed with heat. It oozed from his vents, from his seams, buffeting Starscream from behind. Why wouldn't the blasted Dinobot just open his panel already?  
  
“Are you going to frag me or not?” Starscream demanded.  
  
“Facing is not just spike in valve, you know,” Grimlock said, again with that annoyingly smart tone. His fingers stroked a stirring pleasure in Starscream's valve.  
  
That was it!  
  
Starscream growled and shoved back, hard enough to push both himself and Grimlock away from the table. Or maybe it was the table that moved. Whichever. Either way, it gave him room to flip himself on Grimlock's lap until he faced the smug Dinobot and could wrap his legs around Grimlock's waist.  
  
“Open,” he demanded, shoving his hand between Grimlock's legs and groping at his panel.  
  
Grimlock's hands settled on his hips. His visor was bright, his field thick with arousal. He didn't have a mouth, but there was a certain gleam to his visor that suggested he was smirking.  
  
“If you insist,” Grimlock said.  
  
His panel snicked aside, spike pressurizing into Starscream's hand, his valve winking into view below it. Starscream blinked and stared down at the rather impressive girth. He knew Grimlock mass-shifted to a certain extent, between his root-mode and his Dino-mode, but hadn't quite realized how much. His spike also had a unique shape, a little ridge near the base that swelled outward, sure to provide a nice stretch to Starscream's valve rim.  
  
He shivered with anticipation.  
  
“Impressive,” Starscream purred as he arched an orbital ridge. “Maybe this'll actually do the job properly.”  
  
Grimlock barked a laugh and rolled up into Starscream's hand, his spike throbbing with pent-up arousal. Pre-fluid dribbled from the tip, dampening Starscream’s fingers. “Do you insult all your partners?” he asked.  
  
Starscream smirked. “Just the ones I think can meet the challenge.” His wings fluttered.  
  
He stroked Grimlock's spike again, fingers toying with the rounded head of it. Grimlock was thick enough that he'd feel fantastic sliding into Starscream's valve. His spike would probably hit all the sensors just right.  
  
Grimlock's hands adjusted their grip, curling around Starscream's hip to get a nice handful of his aft. “I guess all that's left is to see,” he said, rocking his hips upward. The crisp scent of arousal filled the air between them.  
  
Starscream bit down on another moan. He let go of Grimlock's spike and threw his arms over Grimlock's shoulders, rising up so that the thick head of Grimlock's spike brushed over the swollen rim of his valve. Lubricant trickled free, dripping into Grimlock's spike. Anticipation tightened every hydraulic and cable. His field thickened with lust.  
  
His personal comm chirped.  
  
Starscream froze. He wanted to ignore it but damn it. He was supposed to be responsible. He had duties. He was, technically, on shift. No matter how much his valve quivered and Grimlock's spike was right there and their fields finally started to sync with shared arousal.  
  
“You stopped,” Grimlock said, his tone mild but hinting of disappointment.  
  
Starscream gritted his denta. His thighs trembled. “Someone's pinging me.”  
  
Grimlock's fingers flexed on his hips. “And?”  
  
“And we're the Decepticon lord and commander,” Starscream forced out. “I have to make sure it's not important.”The head of Grimlock's spike caught against the swollen fold of his valve and brushed over his bright node.  
  
A whine escaped Starscream before he could stop it.  
  
His comm chirped again.  
  
“This had better be important!” Starscream snarled before he could remind himself to be polite. His entire frame was tense with delayed gratification.  
  
He _hated_ to wait on his gratification.  
  
Grimlock rolled his hips upward as though to taunt him. His spike head brushed against Starscream’s rim, rubbing over the exterior sensors. His fingers continued to flex on Starscream's hips.  
  
“Oh, was I interrupting something?” Cyclonus' vocals came through, mild and unbothered. Nothing seemed to shake him.  
  
Starscream ground his denta so hard the metal skreeled together. “What is it, Cyclonus?”  
  
Grimlock pumped his hips again, spike rubbing over and over Starscream's valve rim. It was a maddening kind of torture. Starscream almost hissed at him to stop, but it felt good, and he was less inclined to do so with every passing moment.  
  
“I've received word that the space bridge repairs are complete on our end,” Cyclonus said. He didn't sound annoyed.  
  
Starscream honestly wondered what, if anything, would make him react.  
  
“And?” Starscream prompted, and yes, his tone might have been a touch impatient. He dropped a hand to his spike, squeezing himself with a low purr of his engine.  
  
Grimlock's engine rumbled in appreciation. His fingers massaged Starscream's aft. His hips rolled up, spikehead nudging just within the entrance of Starscream's valve before popping free again. The rounded tip of his spike was enough to excite all of the pressure sensors around his rim.  
  
A shudder rippled down Starscream's backstrut. He arched toward Grimlock, panting heavily through his mouth, and almost missed Cyclonus' reply.  
  
“--shortly. Which means Optimus will be returning. Unfortunately, Metalhawk has been made aware of the repairs as well,” Cylonus said.  
  
“Good for him,” Starscream drawled and reached the edge of his patience. “I'm sure he'll want a meeting. I'll set it up later.” Much later. After he'd gotten this spike into him.  
  
“If you insist. Shall I pass the message on to Lord Grimlock?”  
  
Starscream smirked and arched his frame against Grimlock's with a burr of metal on metal that sent a wave of heat through his frame. “No, I'll handle our lord and master,” he said with a wink.  
  
Grimlock's frame vibrated with muffled laughter. He gripped Starscream's aft all the firmer and nudged his spike against Starscream's valve. The head of his spike caught the rim and slipped in by the first wonderful inch.  
  
Starscream tossed his helm back and moaned, rolling his hips down to take another inch, his calipers stretching wide to accommodate Grimlock's girth. It was the good kind of stretch, and it sent a ripple of heat up his backstrut.  
  
Cyclonus' silence on the other end of the line was a little telling. “As you say,” Cyclonus finally said and then the comm clicked off.  
  
Starscream would have laughed, but Grimlock growled and pushed up into him, bottoming out in a single thrust that stole Starscream's focus and set his vents out of sync. He gasped, all of his sensors lighting up at once, his thighs trembling against Grimlock's sides.  
  
“Out of patience, Dinobot?” Starscream panted a ventilation.  
  
“You are rather enticing,” Grimlock retorted. He rolled his hips upward, the rounded flare of his spikehead grinding up against Starscream's ceiling node.  
  
He moaned as a wave of charge swept through his valve. His calipers rippled, and his sensor nodes sparked to life. Starscream shivered.  
  
“I know I am,” he purred. His fingers tightened around his spike, thumb stroking over the head. “Prove to me you're worth it.”  
  
Grimlock's visor darkened, his field slamming against Starscream's with a thick pouring of lust. He suddenly pushed to his pedes, and Starscream flailed for a grip, not that he needed one. Grimlock lifted him as though he weighed nothing and lay him down on the table, freeing up his hands to roam as he pleased.  
  
Starscream's wings scraped against the table's surface, not painfully, but with just enough stimulation that it sent a wave of pleasure throughout his frame. His thighs tightened around Grimlock's waist as the Dinobot bent over him and thrust into his valve, hard enough to shove him across the table if not for one firm grip on Starscream's hip.  
  
Starscream made a sound that was a cross between a yelp and a moan. Grimlock was relentless, pushing in and out of his valve in a steady motion. Each forward thrust was followed by a slow grind against his ceiling node that made him see stars. His vents blasted heat, pleasure building inside of him toward another overload. Especially when Grimlock notched them together and ground against his panel, applying a steady pressure to Starscream's anterior node.  
  
“Do I... meet your approval?” Grimlock panted, vocals better a growl as he slammed into Starscream again and again.  
  
“Shut up and frag me!” Starscream snarled. He snagged Grimlock by the chestplate, pulling the heavier Dinobot down on top of him. His spike bumped against Grimlock's ventrum, hot metal teasing the sensitive head.  
  
Grimlock blanketed him with his frame, his scorching ex-vents wafting down on Starscream. One hand gripped Starscream's hip, but the other palmed his wing, a source of endless fascination for him.  
  
Starscream didn't care where he touched so long as he kept it up. He tossed his helm back and moaned, rocking his hips upward and clenching down on Grimlock's spike. Another sharp thrust pressed him down against the table as Grimlock held him in place and steadily ground down. Starscream's node pulsed with pleasure.  
  
And then Grimlock stopped. His vents cycled heat. His spike throbbed in Starscream's valve. But all he did was hold himself there and let out a frustrated huff.  
  
“What are you doing?” Starscream demanded with a squeeze of his thighs and a clench of his valve.  
  
“Hold on,” Grimlock snapped and rolled his helm, rebooting his vocalizer. “Grimlock, here. Go ahead.”  
  
What? Was he serious? What was with the timing!  
  
Starscream growled, his pedes bouncing against the back of Grimlock's thighs. He curled his fingers into Grimlock's transformation seams, stroking the heated cables beneath. Grimlock's gaze turned toward him, dark with heat. He rolled his hips, spike grinding against Starscream's ceiling node.  
  
He shuddered and held on, pleasure spiking through his lines.  
  
“Is it important?” Grimlock asked aloud. He tilted his gaze toward Starscream, visor glinting with a mischievous light.  
  
“It had better be,” Starscream snapped.  
  
Something like laughter rumbled in the Dinobot's chassis. “If you must. Come on up. We have the time now.”  
  
“We most certainly do not!” Starscream hissed, his heel snapping against Grimlock's aft. The clang echoed in the conference room, though Grimlock didn't budge.  
  
He half-lit one end of his visor in a wink and snapped his hips forward, a grinding thrust on Starscream's ceiling node. Starscream's frustration bled into a moan. His valve rippled with impending overload.  
  
“I guess that means we have to make this quick,” Grimlock said, finally giving Starscream his full attention. He stopped petting Starscream's wing and wrapped his massive fingers around Starscream's spike, giving him a squeeze.  
  
Starscream groaned. “This is unfair.”  
  
Grimlock chuckled. “The price of being a leader,” he said, and gave Starscream's spike another squeeze.  
  
Starscream trembled. He clenched his valve down on Grimlock's spike and was rewarded with the sight of Grimlock's armor flaring. His field rippled with arousal, tangling with Starscream's own. He ground into Starscream, circled his hips, and then picked up his rhythm again.  
  
It was no holds barred this time, the pace fast and brutal. Starscream loved every second of it, holding on as Grimlock pounded into him, his thick spike raking against all of Starscream's internal sensors. His nodes crackled with electric fire. His spike pulsed in Grimlock's grip. His vents blasted out heat.  
  
He overloaded with a shout, one probably heard two corridors away, clamping down on Grimlock's spike as he jetted transfluid all over Grimlock's ventrum. His fans roared to compensate for the heat flooding his frame. Ecstasy sent a wave of blue fire over his armor, and Starscream's optics fritzed. His sensory nodes sang with pleasure, especially as Grimlock carried him through every tremor of his release.  
  
Grimlock's vents sounded haggard and rough. One of his cooling fans clanked as it spun.  
  
“Was it... good for you?” he asked, vocals stripped with static.  
  
Starscream dredged up something like a smirk. “Enough for a repeat encounter,” he said, vocals bouncing with every harder and harder thrust, Grimlock curled over him in a furious race to his overload.  
  
“Good.” Grimlock's visor blazed with need. “I'm going to-- Do you mind if I--” He cut off twice, his vocals taking on a strained edge.  
  
Starscream's thighs clamped Grimlock all the tighter. “Please,” he purred as he rolled his hips upward. “I insist.”  
  
All that emerged from Grimlock's vocals was static as his engine roared, and he slammed into Starscream, once, twice, and then a third time before a flood of heat blossomed in Starscream's valve. He moaned as the wash of transfluid crackled over his nodes, drawing a few, small jolts of pleasure. Like mini-overloads.  
  
Grimlock's hands slammed onto the table on either side of Starscream's helm. His hips pinned Starscream's to the table as he leaned over Starscream, all bulk and mass and heat. His vents roared on maximum. The scent of interfacing was so thick in the air it was all Starscream's atmospheric sensors could detect.  
  
But there was no denying the satisfaction in Grimlock's field. Or the little shivers his armor kept giving off as his plating shuffled and reshuffled.  
  
That, Starscream decided, was definitely worth a repeat performance. Except perhaps on a berth, he corrected, thinking of his aching backstrut and what was probably a few scratches in his paint job.  
  
Grimlock stayed nestled within his valve as Starscream's calipers twitched around him, restlessly clicking.  
  
“We should probably move,” Starscream said.  
  
“I don't know,” Grimlock replied with a controlled roll of his hips that stirred his spike through all of the accumulated fluids in Starscream's valve. “I'm comfortable.”  
  
Someone chimed the door.  
  
Thank Primus they'd had the foresight to lock it.  
  
They both froze. Starscream's armor clamped down tight. He wasn't opposed to putting on a show if it was arranged beforehand, but the last thing he needed was rumors getting started. No, frag it, he was not interfacing his way to the top!  
  
“That,” Grimlock said, “would be Vortex.”  
  
Slag it all to the Pit!  
  
Starscream pushed at Grimlock's chest. “Get off! We have work to do.”  
  
“I thought I just did.”  
  
“You're not funny!” Starscream snapped with a roll of his optics.  
  
He pushed again, not that it was needed as Grimlock was already loosening his hold on Starscream and sliding back. His spike eased from Starscream's valve, though a mix of lubricant and transfluid trickled free in his wake. No time to clean himself out now. Starscream snapped his panel shut and sat up on the table, pulling a couple metal-mesh cloths from his subspace.  
  
He tossed one to Grimlock and swiped the rest over himself as quickly as possible. He didn't need to be spotless, just presentable.  
  
“Seems like a waste,” Grimlock said as he dutifully wiped himself clean.  
  
The door pinged again. Not because Vortex was impatient, but because he liked to be irritating.  
  
Starscream gritted his denta and glared in the door's general direction. Though Grimlock was partially to blame for agreeing to let Vortex have a say. For whatever reason. Vortex wasn't even a Decepticon anymore!  
  
Starscream looked down at the floor. Nothing much to be done about the puddles of fluid there. So he hooked a chair, dragged it over, and decided that would have to do for a cover. He tucked the metalmesh back into his subspace for cleaning later.  
  
“Let him in,” Starscream said with a flick of his hand.  
  
Grimlock's visor flickered as amusement danced in his field. He dipped his helm in a bow. “As you wish, my Air Commander,” he said.  
  
Starscream hopped off the table and narrowed his optics at Grimlock. Half the time, he couldn't tell if the Dinobot was sincere or not. Or was it that Megatron's idea of social interaction had been so disastrously skewed that Starscream didn't know how to recognize genuine behavior anymore.  
  
He didn't know. It left him deeply suspicious.  
  
He'd rather have Grimlock as leader of the Decepticons, this much was true. But he still wasn't sure how far he could actually trust the part-Autobot, all-Dinobot.  
  
Grimlock keyed his code into the pad, unlocking it, and giving leave for Vortex to enter. The door slid open immediately afterward, and Vortex strolled inside as though he owned the place. Curiously, he was alone. Where on Cybertron was his handler? Was he allowed to walk around unsupervised?  
  
“Busy?” Vortex asked, a glint in his visor spelling mischief.  
  
Starscream's optics darkened to narrow slits. “Whatever you came to discuss, speak quickly. I don't have time to waste on you.”  
  
Vortex's rotors twitched. He swung his helm left and right and then tilted it. “You might want to get your atmospheric circulators checked. I don't think they're working properly. I could almost swear that it smells like 'facing in here.”  
  
“Get to the point,” Starscream gritted out.  
  
“Yes,” Grimlock agreed, folding his arms over his chestplate. He glowered at Vortex. “You said this was important. So talk.”  
  
Starscream cast his leader a curious look. Grimlock's flawless alternating between the more dumbed-down vocal patterns and his obvious intelligence never ceased to amaze. Sometimes it was hard to believe that such a keen mind existed behind that oafish exterior.  
  
Vortex side-eyed Grimlock and approached the table, hopping up onto it and taking a seat. “Fine,” he said and his rotors quivered again.  
  
If Starscream didn't know better, he'd guess that Vortex was nervous.  
  
“I need answers, and I'm not going to Optimus Prime,” Vortex continued, his field finally easing into the room, but it gave away very little. “Ons might be fully in his court, but I'm not willing to wave either banner.”  
  
“So you've said.” Starscream inclined his helm and gestured to Vortex. “Continue. I presume this is about a job?”  
  
Vortex shook his helm, and his visor dimmed by a degree. A twitch of his rotor mount and a shift in the direction of his gaze and Starscream was certain now. Vortex was uncertain about something.  
  
“No,” he said. “It's about... courtship.”  
  
Starscream cycled his optics.  
  
Grimlock rebooted his entire sensory suite with an audible click.  
  
They both stared at the Combaticon and resident interrogator with nothing short of confusion.  
  
“Come again?” Starscream said.  
  
Vortex sighed and scrubbed a hand down his mask and visor. “Look, it's like this. I don't know how it happened, but it did. He's just my type, and Ons knew that, and he did it anyway. Now I can't get the kid out of my helm, and I just want to know what the rules are.”  
  
Starscream frowned and tapped into his databanks. The Combaticons _had_ taken a slave, if Starscream recalled. It had been a reward for their obedience and good behavior. Megatron had allowed them to take one of the more docile Autobots. The Praxian who wasn't Prowl or Jazz's pet pretend interrogator.  
  
“You want Bluestreak?” Grimlock asked right before Starscream finished putting two and two together.  
  
Vortex didn't look at either of them. “I didn't say it made sense.”  
  
Starscream stared at Vortex. “Why?”  
  
“Am I supposed to tell you all the reasons why before I'm allowed to find out if I can pursue him or not?” Vortex demanded. His arms folded across his chassis, closing himself out. “I'm not going to hurt him! I just want to know if I can court him.”  
  
Starscream's jaw dropped. It was the first time he could ever recall such surprise to flicker through his spark.  
  
Vortex was serious.  
  
Grimlock, too, stared, though there was something of amusement in his field. “There is no law against interfactional relationships, no matter if you are Autobot, Decepticon, or Neutral,” he said. “They are, in fact, encouraged.”  
  
Starscream nodded, though the surprise still left him struggling to form the proper words. “If he'll accept your comm, you can court him all you want. I take it Onslaught approves?”  
  
“Don't matter if he does or not. He's my commander, not my owner.” Vortex rolled his shoulders in an indignant shrug, though something of his earlier hesitation continued to linger. “All I care about is making sure I don't step on any pedes and no one throws me in a brig for breaking some rule.”  
  
Grimlock leaned back in his chair, propping his pedes up on the table. “You have a reputation,” he said. “Rules or not, you're going to have to be careful.”  
  
“I know that.” Vortex cycled a sharp ventilation and scraped a hand over his helm. “Do I need to ask the Prime for permission first?”  
  
Starscream exchanged a glance with Grimlock, but a tilt of his leader's helm put the answer firmly on Starscream's shoulders. His wing fluttered. It was kind of nice to be trusted like that. It was even nicer that they had already established this rapport.  
  
“No,” Starscream said. “But it would be a nice show of courtesy. Any brownie points we can win with the Autobots, the better.”  
  
Vortex scoffed and flicked his solid gray shoulder. “I'm not a Decepticon anymore.”  
  
“But you were one. And you used to own Bluestreak, for lack of a better word. If you don't want anyone to get the wrong impression, you'll do whatever you can to start with the right one,” Starscream said.  
  
“Bluestreak has many friends,” Grimlock added with a low rumble of his power plant. “Dinobots included.”  
  
Vortex lifted a hand, performing a sloppy salute. “So I better be genuine. Gotcha. Good thing I am.” He dipped his helm in a parody of a bow. “Thank you for your time. I'll see myself out. And you can two get back to your work.”  
  
Starscream's optics narrowed. “You do that.”  
  
He watched Vortex leave, the door sliding shut and automatically locking behind him. Starscream gnawed on his bottom lip as he considered. Vortex had seemed sincere, and he'd always thought it odd the Combaticons would have chosen someone like the garrulous sniper.  
  
Still, it was peculiar.  
  
“Work,” Grimlock repeated. and he tossed his helm back, laughing long and loud. “The puddle of fluid beneath my chair suggests otherwise.”  
  
“Shut up,” Starscream snapped. “And we do have work, you know. Cyclonus was right. If the space bridge is fixed, Metalhawk is going to start whining about wanting to use it.”  
  
“We have to discuss that now?” Grimlock asked. His field flickered back into the room, teasingly brushing against Starscream's own.  
  
Starscream's wings shivered. They had, after all, been interrupted multiple times. “Better now than get interrupted later,” he said with a slow grin.  
  
“You may have a point.” Grimlock cycled a ventilation. “What boring topic is next on the agenda?”  
  
Starscream chuckled.  
  


0o0o0

  
  
The space bridge had been repaired.  
  
It was very good news. Then again, after inspecting it for himself, Cyclonus wasn't surprised. There was a reason Jazz was Optimus' Special Ops Commander. He knew exactly how to disable the space bridge without destroying it completely.  
  
He'd opted to damage the control console and the energy connectors, all of which could be replaced as soon as the appropriate parts were duplicated. It was simply a matter of swapping out the damaged pieces for new ones.  
  
Cyclonus had always respected Jazz, and this was one of the reasons why.  
  
His other targeted attacks around Cybertron were carried in the same manner. Those on the depots were arranged to limit Decepticon access and facilitate an escape with some of the stock, not destroy the entire depot. Sure, it took them time to dig out the storage containers and restore access to the locked warehouses, but in the end, all of the relevant supplies were left intact.  
  
How Jazz had coordinated this with limited means to communicate, limited supplies, and limited staff, Cyclonus did not know.  
  
Especially after he'd come to learn that Jazz and a small team had infiltrated the Decepticons as Ricochet and his associates. He'd only had three Autobots left to run wild on Cybertron and of those, Trailbreaker was not a mech anyone could consider stealthy. But Cyclonus supposed there was a reason the large defensive mechanism was an auxiliary member of Jazz's special teams.  
  
All in all, it was well done. It was cold and calculated. It was many things that Autobot tactics had never been which proved one thing, Optimus had found some means to rein in his third. Either that or Jazz had willingly hobbled himself out of a sense of deference or respect for his commander.  
  
Cyclonus supposed that made the Decepticons lucky. If Optimus had been less of a mech, he could have relied on the same tactics Megatron employed, and the Autobots would have won the war.  
  
Sometimes, seeing the ruin Cybertron had become and the pain Megatron's victory had caused the defeated party, Cyclonus wondered if that might not have been the better outcome.  
  
Cyclonus did not consider himself one who was prone to moping. But when he flew over what remained of Cybertron and saw the destruction that the war had wrought, the urge to brood struck him. It hurt to see Cybertron in such a state. It hurt to return, trusting that Megatron's leadership had brought them a worthwhile victory. It hurt to return to the main Decepticon fold and see that much had changed in the millennia since Cyclonus had last served under Lord Megatron.  
  
Cyclonus did not like the changes Megatron had wrought. But it was too late to turn back, and he'd heard enough stories about what happened to those who disagreed with Megatron. He couldn't afford to be branded an Autobot, nor did he want that distinction. If anything, he would have preferred Neutrality.  
  
Such was not an option. Especially if Metalhawk was any example of what the Neutrals had become. They were self-congratulating mechs who considered themselves better than the Autobots and Decepticons who had given their sparks to fight for what was right. Metalhawk was everything Cyclonus had hated about the old regime. He was a coward.  
  
Cyclonus had chosen to keep his silence. He stayed in the background, kept his own soldiers close, and made himself rid of anyone who thought Megatron was in the right. They had begun the war for a righteous purpose, not to make the Autobots into slaves for the amusement of the Decepticons. And not to ignore the state of their homeworld in favor of expanding to alien planets.  
  
Cybertron, their home, was what was important. Not conquering.  
  
Cylonus had heard the murmurings of Starscream's planned coup. He'd overheard Starscream and Soundwave in conversation one day. He'd chosen to keep his silence. He'd picked a side on his own after considering the options. And when the day came, he ordered his soldiers to make their own choice.  
  
None stuck with Megatron.  
  
There were times he did wonder if overhearing Soundwave and Starscream had been part of their plan. Starscream was devious, and Soundwave too good at his job for either of them to be so careless. Soundwave's army of little spies meant he was never caught unaware. So perhaps they were taking the opportunity to gauge his reaction without directly approaching him.  
  
Cyclonus didn't know. But he was glad to have gotten the opportunity to choose for himself.  
  
Cyclonus offered his fealty not to Starscream – he would never trust the Seeker – but to Grimlock. Because he had witnessed the Dinobot leader's strength, and he had seen the way Grimlock treated his subordinates. Grimlock was a leader who could be trusted, who Cyclonus believed had a better future in mind for the Decepticons. And it was far better than becoming an Autobot.  
  
Cyclonus would rather leave Cybertron than bow to another Prime. No matter who that Prime was.  
  
Cyclonus banked to the left, tilting toward the horizon. He found one of his favorite observation decks and landed. This one gave him a broad view of Iacon, the rebuilding in process, and to the east, the distant crumbles of what remained of Polyhex's towers where the Autobots were making their home. If he looked to the west, he could see what the Neutrals were making of their own territory in the flattened ruins of Nova Cronum. Cyclonus did not envy them that task. There were other locations better suited for rebuilding, but Metalhawk insisted on remaining in proximity to the space bridge.  
  
It remained a painful sight. He could remember so clearly the beauty and glory that was Cybertron in the Golden Age. As much as he despised the structures Megatron had risen to destroy, Cybertron had always been Cyclonus' home. He grieved for what it had become, what horrors they had inflicted upon it.  
  
He grieved for the fact they might never repopulate their planet. With Vector Sigma dark and the key destroyed, there would be no newsparks. They might have stopped themselves from killing each other, but they had no hopes of continuing their species. Cybertronians lived a long time, but even so, they had no future.  
  
Cyclonus heard the scuffling of pedesteps against the debris-laden platform long before the owner spoke up, but Cyclonus hadn't registered ill-intent so he kept it to himself. Now, however, his visitor purposefully made his presence known.  
  
“It's not beautiful anymore, is it?” a voice ventured, somewhat tentative. Clearly, he was neither Autobot nor Decepticon, because Cyclonus could not imagine any living soldier so uncertain of himself.  
  
Cyclonus inclined his helm. “We can make it so again. We only have to work hard.” He tilted his helm, looking to the right, more than a little surprised to see that it was a minibot.  
  
The little mech wore both visor and battlemask, the latter permanent by Cyclonus' guess. His white and blue paint was nearly immaculate. But the more interesting observation was his lack of a badge.  
  
“You are a Neutral,” Cyclonus observed.  
  
The Neutral looked up at him. “And you're a Decepticon,” he said with a little laugh. “See? I can state the obvious, too.”  
  
“What are you doing in Iacon?” Cyclonus asked. He hadn't known that they were allowing Neutrals in, other than the medical staff that was so desperately needed, and the engineers for the space bridge.  
  
He should have known this. He was third-in-command. Had he missed some communique?  
  
The Neutral tapped his arm and the words printed across his plating that read 'Waste Disposal.' “I'm evaluating. All the transmission pipes under the city are in bad shape. Sadly, I'm the closest thing to an expert that's left.”  
  
A Waste Disposal mech was the closest thing to a structural engineer? Clearly, they had fallen. So many Cybertronians killed.  
  
This was no victory.  
  
Cyclonus cycled a ventilation. “You were invited?”  
  
The Neutral bristled, his armor plating fluffing up. “Do you want to see the request Starscream sent? Metalhawk signed off on it, too.”  
  
Cyclonus shook his helm and held up a hand. “I apologize. I did not mean to cast aspersions on your honesty. It is simply that you appear ill-equipped to wander around Iacon on your own.”  
  
Not only because he was a minibot, but also because he didn't appear to be armed and the way he carried himself suggested he didn't have much combat training.  
  
“Because I'm not a warrior, you mean.” He thumped his chestplate with a palm, causing a dull thunk. “I can take care of myself.”  
  
Cyclonus doubted it. “Can you?”  
  
The Neutral's gaze flicked away. He shrank into himself. “I'm good at hiding,” he admitted.  
  
“This is not hiding.” Despite himself, Cyclonus felt a little amused.  
  
The visor shifted to him briefly before the Neutral shuffled his pedes. “You looked nice enough to approach. I've, um, seen you up here before.” He looked away again, tapping his fingers together.  
  
“I see.” Cyclonus had made it a habit to come here in his free time. He was unaware that it was often enough to be noticed. “I will not harm you. But I would suggest that you use caution in the future. There are many Decepticons who are not so kind.” He winced. Kind was not a word Cyclonus was accustomed to attributing to himself.  
  
The Neutral's fingers tapped together again. “I kind of already knew who you were. Metalhawk made sure we knew who the important Decepticons were, Commander Cyclonus.”  
  
“You are not a Decepticon,” he said gently. “You may call me Cyclonus alone. Might I have your designation?”  
  
“Oh.” The Neutral ducked his helm. “I'm Tailgate.”  
  
Cyclonus dipped his helm in a traditional bow of greeting to the minibot. “It is is a pleasure to meet you, Tailgate. But the cycle is growing late. Is there somewhere I can escort you to ensure you get there safely?”  
  
“Um. Could I stay here?” Tailgate asked, and then rushed to add, “Just for a little bit longer, I mean. I know my way back. You don't have to stay. I just... I like the view here. But if it's against the rules or something, I can leave.”  
  
“You may stay as long as you like,” Cyclonus said, but he was reluctant to leave the minibot here alone. Not only because of the danger of angry Decepticons, but also the vermin which had made Cybertron their home.  
  
They didn't often come close to inhabited areas, there were too many people around. But here on the outskirts? Any mech wandering by his lonesome was ripe for the taking.  
  
Tailgate had to have some kind of self-defense training to have survived the war, unless the Neutrals truly had found some place so far removed from the violence that it wasn't needed. But Tailgate was small, and it would only take one large Decepticons still bitter about Megatron's defeat to decide he needed a consolation prize.  
  
Cyclonus would not see Cybertron return to war. They had lost too much already.  
  
“In fact,” Cyclonus continued, firmly turning his attention back to the view, as painful as it was. “I think I shall stay, too.”  
  
A comfortable silence settled between them until Tailgate ventured, “You really think we can fix it?”  
  
“If we work together,” Cyclonus said. Cooperation, he suspected, would be the hardest part. “We have to fix what we have broken.”  
  
Tailgate's visor glimmered at him. “Yeah,” he said. “I think so, too.”  
  
Cyclonus felt a smile pull at his lips. Perhaps the Neutrals weren't so bad after all.  
  


***


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme song: "Warrior," Beth Crowley

****The meeting ran long into the night. Long enough for even Skywarp to get suspicious and cast Thundercracker a concerned look.  
  
Were they worried about Starscream? Of course not! Or maybe just a little. Starscream's track record when it came to other mechs in positions of authority was not a good one.  
  
Did they think a soft-sparked Autobot was likely to send their Air Commander to the medbay? No. But Grimlock had scrubbed off his Autobot badge almost the moment he'd killed Megatron, and Thundercracker couldn't blame him. The Autobots might like to sit in their high tower and pretend to be perfect, but they had their flaws.  
  
Granted Megatron wanted to use the Dinobots for their strength and superior power, too, but at least he was up front about it.  
  
Next to them, Swoop fidgeted. Thundercracker cast him a worried look, too. Swoop wasn't bad for a Dinobot. Sure, he flew like a rock compared to a Seeker, but he had a quiet intelligence that Thundercracker could appreciate. Like the rest of the Dinobots, Thundercracker supposed. None of them had been given the chance to show they were anything but dumb brutes until now.  
  
“We could always barge in,” Skywarp suggested with another sideways look to the door.  
  
The baleful orange glow of the panel announced that it was locked. Just as it had been for the past twenty minutes. Thundercracker had pinged Starscream, but hadn't gotten anything more than an automated response stating he was busy. If it was an emergency, they were to try his emergency line.  
  
It wasn't an emergency. Thundercracker knew very well how caustic their trine leader could be when interrupted for something unimportant.  
  
“And suffer his wrath? I don't think so.”  
  
Starscream didn't get physically violent like Megatron. But words could cut just as deeply, and Thundercracker had been on the receiving end of more than a few biting exchanges. He knew a defense mechanism when he saw one. That didn't make it any more excusable.  
  
They still waited on a proper apology.  
  
“Me Swoop could interrupt,” Swoop said with a half-sparked smile. The way he still curled away from them made Thundercracker physically ill.  
  
He didn't know what Shockwave had done to the winged Dinobot, but Thundercracker was of the mind that Shockwave could rot in prison for the rest of his functioning. Thundercracker remembered Swoop to be bold and fearless. He did not like seeing Swoop as he was now, a shadow of the brave, flying Dinobot who used to be such a terror to them.  
  
The guilt swamped him. Perhaps they should have taken an Autobot. They should’ve convinced Starscream to do so as well. They might have treated the Autobot like an unpaid laborer, but they wouldn’t have raped him or experimented on him. They’d missed an opportunity to be decent mechs there.  
  
It was something Thundercracker would have to carry with him to the Pit, he supposed.  
  
“Him Grimlock won't mind,” Swoop added and he ducked his helm.  
  
Thundercracker shook his helm. “That won't be necessary, Swoop. We'll wait a little longer, and then all three of us can barge in.”  
  
Cyclonus was already gone. The meeting should have ended two hours ago for Primus' sake. What on Cybertron were Grimlock and Starscream doing in there? Thundercracker hoped it wasn’t another battle for leadership. Starscream sometimes didn’t know the meaning of ‘quit.’  
  
The door panel clicked from warning orange to ready green. Thundercracker straightened as a soft beep echoed in the corridor. The door slid open, Starscream emerging first and Grimlock after him.  
  
Starscream was grinning, his wings raised in a flirtatious manner. His grin faded a little when he noticed the three of them standing around. “You didn't have to wait, you know.”  
  
“You said you'd go flying with us,” Skywarp pointed out. His wings flattened against his back, a shiver of unease tainting his field. “You're not skipping out this time.”  
  
Unlike all the other times, Thundercracker thought. Starscream could stand to be a little more grateful. They'd all risked their sparks rising up against Megatron. It was a combination of skill and luck that they'd emerged victorious.  
  
Starscream sighed. “Yes, I know. We ran late.”  
  
“Yeah. We noticed.” Thundercracker folded his arms.  
  
“You Swoop come,” Grimlock said, gesturing to his Dinobot. “You fly good?”  
  
Swoop dipped his helm in thanks to Skywarp and Thundercracker and hurried to catch up to his commander. “Me Swoop flew better!” he chirped, optics lighting up with happiness as Grimlock threw an arm over his shoulders. “Him Thunder and him Sky nice!”  
  
Grimlock chuckled and glanced back at them, his visor unreadable. “Is that so?”  
  
Thundercracker refused to squirm. His new lord and master did not intimidate him. Besides, they'd taken care of Swoop! They hadn't bullied him at all. Grimlock should be happy that the surviving Conehead was in jail. Or that it hadn’t been the Rainmakers either. Sunstorm was perfectly respectful, but Acid Storm was a sarcastic aft.  
  
“What's going on, Star?” Skywarp demanded, pulling Thundercracker's attention back to his trinemates. Skywarp frowned as he circled Starscream, leaning in as though sniffing their trinemate.  
  
Starscream gave him a sideways look. “Nothing,” he said.  
  
Skywarp's optics narrowed. “Then why do I smell ozone?” he demanded and his wings hiked upward. He threw a glare down the corridor where Grimlock had already disappeared around the corner with Swoop.  
  
Thundercracker knew Skywarp had struck home with Starscream grimaced and folded his arms over his cockpit. He stepped away from Skywarp, closing himself off to them. What little they could sense of his field became nonexistent.  
  
“Probably because you two have been interfacing yourselves six ways to Moonbase,” Starscream said with a defensive hiss of his ex-vents.  
  
“That’s not how we do and you know it,” Skywarp snapped, offense thick in his tone, though more for Thundercracker than himself.  
  
Skywarp's field flared, and Thundercracker was quick to intervene, stepping between them and putting a hand on Skywarp's shoulder. It saddened him how often he took this role. Skywarp could be emotional, and Starscream always knew how to cut to the protoform.  
  
“Are you and Grimlock facing?” Thundercracker asked. Because he hadn't missed the lingering looks the first and second of Decepticon command exchanged. He also knew exactly how Starscream's scheming processor worked.  
  
Starscream's lips formed a thin line and provided all the answer Thundercracker needed. Starscream knew he couldn't lie to them, so as he always did when he didn't want to answer something, he went silent. He went defensive. Even now his shoulders hunched, and he pulled away from them.  
  
Damn it. Thundercracker's free hand curled into a fist. Not this again. Not this all over again. Thundercracker refused. He would not allow himself to be led down a path of destruction because Starscream couldn’t control his libido.  
  
Skywarp sighed and hid his face behind his palm. “Star--”  
  
“I legitimately do not want to hear it,” Starscream bit out, his field lashing through the corridor as sharp as a whip.  
  
“But--”  
  
“It's not a relationship, it's just facing. It doesn't mean anything,” Starscream snarled, and his shoulders hunched further. His optics brightened in the way they always did when he felt cornered. “And I don't even know if it was more than a one-time thing.”  
  
“That's what you said about Megatron!” Skywarp snapped, and only Thundercracker's hand on his shoulder kept him from charging forward.  
  
Starscream's wings whipped upright. His engine growled warningly.  
  
Thundercracker put up a hand, warning Starscream with his gaze alone. Primus, he hated having to step between them. He thought they were over this. He thought Megatron's death would be enough to fix things.  
  
He should have known better.  
  
Bad habits were almost impossible to break.  
  
“He has a valid point, Starscream,” Thundercracker said, careful to keep his tone gentle and neutral. Starscream only got more defensive if he felt accused. “You have a type and Autobot aside, Grimlock fits it.”  
  
“Except that Grimlock doesn't beat his subordinates,” Starscream muttered.  
  
Skywarp's field flexed with concern. He drew back, and Thundercracker could all too easily read the hurt in his expression. “Megatron didn't either. At first,” he pointed out.  
  
Starscream sighed. He palmed his face. That he didn't immediately lash out was progress. Usually the first mention of Megatron was enough to send him storming away in a huff, unwilling to listen further.  
  
“You know what, no,” Starscream said with a flick of his other hand. “I'm not having this conversation here. Come on.”  
  
It was a start, Thundercracker realized as Skywarp relented, and they both followed after Starscream, heading no doubt for Starscream's habsuite.  
  
It was a change for the better. Usually, Starscream would dismiss them and sulk in his own solitude. But the fact he wanted to talk was a start.  
  
Maybe things were changing after all.  
  
Skywarp bumped shoulders with him, as though trying to get Thundercracker's attention. He shook his helm. No. Best not to speculate. Better to wait for Starscream to explain.  
  
They followed Starscream back to his habsuite, which was on the same hall as Cyclonus'. Grimlock had chosen to quarter himself elsewhere, in a collection of rooms large enough for all the Dinobots to be housed together. They called it their ‘Den’.  
  
Thundercracker supposed it didn't matter since they still had Starscream and Cyclonus within shouting range of the command center, but it was a deviation from the norm.  
  
Thundercracker was far from opposed. Deviations from Megatron were more than acceptable in his datapad.  
  
Thundercracker and Skywarp shared a hab further away. Sharing wasn’t required, but after the close quarters on the Nemesis, Thundercracker had gotten used to having Skywarp around. He actually missed the little glitch’s noise and mess.  
  
Starscream jabbed his code into the panel and stomped inside, leaving Thundercracker and Skywarp room to follow him, though he didn't extend anything close to a polite invitation. He was agitated, all of his easy lassitude gone.  
  
“I wasn't trying to accuse you of anything,” Skywarp blurted the second they crossed the threshold, and the door slid shut. He never did understand the meaning of patience. “It makes sense to be worried. How many times did we have to help put you back together after Megatron was through with you?”  
  
His hands formed fists. His wings twitched. He was as agitated as Starscream and Thundercracker sighed. Two high strung mechs in the same trine was never a good idea. But Primus, it hadn't always been like this.  
  
Starscream folded his arms over his cockpit, his shoulders hunched and defensive. “Grimlock is not Megatron. I wouldn't have accepted his leadership if I thought, even for a moment, that we would be trading one maniac for another.”  
  
Thundercracker rested a hand on Skywarp's shoulder, squeezing to let his partner know he was there. “I know.” He paused, intending to say something along the lines of “I trust your judgment” but it would be a lie.  
  
Starscream's judgment, up until recently, had been rather poor.  
  
“I believe in Grimlock, and I believe the good he’ll do for the Decepticons,” Thundercracker said. “We are just concerned that it's too soon.”  
  
Starscream snorted, his gaze wandering to the window. “I don't know what you think is going on here. I wasn't in love with Megatron, and I'm not in love with Grimlock, and there's nothing too soon about a one time frag that meant nothing.” The last devolved into a hiss and a flicker of wings that was almost a challenge.  
  
Skywarp fell back, his wings nearly resting against Thundercracker's chest. “It had to mean something,” he said, with that occasionally frightening intuition of his. “Otherwise, you wouldn't have felt the need to be secretive about it.”  
  
Starscream sighed and covered his face with his hand. He turned away from them, and Thundercracker had no doubt he was rolling his optics.  
  
“It was the one time. I wasn't trying to keep it a secret, I just don't think it's any of your business,” Starscream said, and he sounded tired.  
  
“Who started it?” Thundercracker asked.  
  
Starscream's arms folded again. His shoulders hunched.  
  
Skywarp gasped. “Did he force you?” he demanded, jumping instantly to what Thundercracker suspected was the wrong conclusion. He doubted Grimlock was the sort to take what hadn't been offered to him.  
  
No, Thundercracker suspected the explanation here was pure embarrassment on Starscream's part. He had always been a private mech, and Skywarp never learned the meaning of boundaries. But then, Starscream had been notorious about making the wrong decisions when it came to his interface partners.  
  
Case in point: Megatron.  
  
Though Thundercracker could hardly call that trainwreck a relationship. They weren't even friends with benefits because Thundercracker didn't see any benefit for either party in that mess. It was mutually destructive, and sometimes, he couldn’t be sure that they both didn’t prefer it that way. They fed into each other, all of that hate and lust getting bundled up into a cataclysmic mess.  
  
No wonder the Decepticons had found themselves defeated, again and again, by an army of civilians and oddities led by a Prime who was as close to a pacifist as one could get, but still participate in battle.  
  
“Of course not!” Starscream snapped, sounding personally offended. He whirled toward Skywarp, wings flicking left and right. “If anything, he was annoyingly polite about it.”  
  
Skywarp blinked.  
  
Thundercracker bit back a grin.  
  
“Annoyingly polite?” he repeated. He leaned his hip against a nearby table. “Do tell, Starscream. What could that possibly mean?”  
  
Their trine leader's faceplate heated. “He asked, okay,” he muttered and scratched at his chin. “It was weird.”  
  
Skywarp and Thundercracker exchanged a look. What that said about Starscream's previous sexual encounters was more than a little appalling. And worrisome. Then again, considering one of his last partners was Megatron and considering just what Megatron had been up to with his Autobot toys, should they be so surprised?  
  
But how to approach this without making Starscream angrier?  
  
“Asking is supposed to be standard procedure,” Skywarp said softly. “Generally. Just means Grimlock was raised right, which I guess is lucky for him considering who he has for parents.”  
  
Starscream snorted.  
  
Even Thundercracker had to hold back a grin. It was a miracle Grimlock was polite at all with Ratchet for a pseudo-caretaker.  
  
“Then I guess that means he wasn't entirely useless in the berth, right?” Skywarp asked, trying to lighten the mood. “Enough for a repeat performance?”  
  
Starscream cut his optics toward Skywarp. “Did you miss the part where I said it was a one-time thing?”  
  
“Is that what Grimlock said it was?” Thundercracker asked. Privately, he was already getting on board this particular connection.  
  
Okay, so it asked for trouble to have the Decepticon leader and second-in-command engage in extracurricular activities. But if it brought that cutely embarrassed flush  
to Starscream's field, Thundercracker could get behind it.  
  
It actually felt kind of nice to be supporting Starscream again, and to actually have a conversation with him without the accompanying waspish comments or Starscream refusing any kind of assistance.  
  
“No,” Starscream retorted.  
  
Skywarp's wings flicked. A hint of eagerness danced in his field. “What did he say?”  
  
Starscream hesitated.  
  
Thundercracker half-expected him to clam up, tell them it was none of their business, and shove them out. That had been the standard procedure ever since they had all woke on Earth after their four million year stasis.  
  
“Next time we'll use a berth,” Starscream replied and his faceplate heated of all things.  
  
He was blushing.  
  
Thundercracker almost gaped. Only a moment of rigid self-control kept him from doing so. He looked at Skywarp, and Skywarp looked back at him with optics lit up with glee.  
  
Okay. Thundercracker could get behind this after all.  
  
“So it's not a one off. Sounds like he wants something more.” Skywarp grinned with the light of a dozen suns. “Which means we're going to have to keep an optic on him. The last thing we need is another Megatron.”  
  
Starscream shook his helm, the color easing from his faceplate as he got hold of himself. “He's nothing like Megatron. He's better in every way.”  
  
Skywarp clapped his hands together. “Well, that's good to know.” He shared a glance with Thundercracker before returning his attention to Starscream. “Now there seems to be the matter of a flight you owe us.”  
  
“You're not going to let that go, are you?” Starscream demanded, but his tone was amused. The stress had gone from his field, and it opened to them. Even his wings fluttered, which was an improvement.  
  
“Nope,” Skywarp chirped. He hooked an elbow around Starscream's, steering him toward the balcony access. “You're our Air Commander, Star. We can't let you forget what that means.”  
  
“As if I could,” Starscream snorted. He worked himself free of Skywarp's arm and opened the door, giving them room to step outside. “Okay, you two. Let's fly then. But I have an early morning so we have to keep this short. And no going near Nova Cronum.”  
  
Skywarp hopped up on the railing, balancing with ease. “Afraid Metalhawk might want to join us?”  
  
“More like I'm not sure he won't try to shoot us down,” Starscream retorted and gave Skywarp a little shove.  
  
Skywarp pinwheeled his arms as he tilted backward, only to transform in mid-air and shoot back upward in jet-mode. Theatrical moron. Thundercracker rolled his optics, and leapt up onto the railing as well, joining Starscream.  
  
“Where you go, we follow,” Thundercracker said.  
  
He tilted his helm toward his commander and dove off the railing, transforming mid-air like Skywarp, though with a lot less pizzazz. He spun into a tight spiral as he pointed his nose toward the sky. Wind rushed over his plating, his environmental sensors pinging data to him at a rapid-fire pace.  
  
He heard thrusters pop as Starscream followed him over.  
  
Three jets rose into the dark sky, stars spinning bright above them. It felt natural to slide into position at Starscream's right while Skywarp wobbled into place at Starscream's left. Thundercracker reached out with his field, and felt Starscream reach back. On the other side, Skywarp joined the loop.  
  
It was so easy to follow Starscream's lead, to plunge right into their usual maneuvers as though nothing had ever happened.  
  
They cut through the air, Command Trine once again, and Thundercracker sent an internal thank you to Grimlock. Oh, he and Skywarp would still need to have a conversation with Grimlock, talk to him about the things Starscream would never bring up, and warn him how hot the blaze burned.  
  
But so far, so good.  
  
Peace was finally within reach.  
  


0o0o0

  
  
“You Grimlock stink,” was the first thing he heard as he stepped through the main door into the massive apartment he shared with the other Dinobots.  
  
The friendly observation came from Snarl, who folded his arms over his chest and stared at Grimlock as though his appearance had personally offended the Stegosaurus-copy. Then again, he and Snarl had clashed personalities more often than not.  
  
Grimlock bit back a sigh. Next to him, Swoop chortled and nudged Grimlock with his elbow. He'd been making pointed remarks their entire walk back.  
  
“Told you,” he said and snuck away, probably to their washracks. He was covered in grit and pollution from his flight with the Seekers.  
  
Of them all, Swoop was the most particular about staying clean. It was an aspect of his personality that had been exacerbated by his time spent in Shockwave's care. He had doubled the time spent in the washrack, and was almost obsessively meticulous about his paint now. He rivaled Sunstreaker in that regard.  
  
If politics weren't in the way, Grimlock would have made the scientist pay for that a thousand fold already. Damn Cyclonus for being rational and recognizing they might need Shockwave's scientific mind in the future. Rest assured, the moment Shockwave's usefulness came to an end, Grimlock vowed to make him pay for his crimes.  
  
But watching Swoop saunter off, cackling to himself, well Grimlock supposed he'd take any kind of teasing if it meant he could see Swoop grinning again. It was like having the old Swoop back, and Grimlock would do whatever it took to see that again.  
  
“What you Grimlock doing?” Slag demanded as he swaggered up, also folding his arms over his chest.  
  
Now he and Snarl both stared at Grimlock, Slag's nose twitching as though Grimlock's odor offended him. Grimlock looked down, but there wasn't a trace of transfluid or lubricant anywhere. He'd cleaned up well. Besides, it wasn't any of their business what he did.  
  
“I was busy working,” he said. “Which is what I do now.” He slipped past both of them and stepped further into the main room of their massive shared apartment.  
  
It was big enough to have an open kitchen, an open office, and a seating area around a large monitor, along with a couple of sturdy video game systems. The scavenged furniture was even big enough for their comfort. Two bookshelves were loaded with datapads that Grimlock intended to read in his down time. The rest of the apartment was lacking in decoration right now, but just having appropriately sized furniture and private rooms to themselves was a luxury. Not to mention their private washracks.  
  
It was a far cry from the rock closet they'd called home for so long. They each had a private room, though Grimlock’s was the largest. It had a berth big enough to fit all four of them, if they didn’t mind squeezing in. Sleeping in a happy pile of Dinobot was one of Grimlock’s favorite memories.  
  
Snarl still insisted they should have taken the now-empty Prime penthouse. Sometimes, he was just dumb.  
  
The only thing of Megatron's that Grimlock wanted was the role of Decepticon Leader. Everything else could go smelt in the Pit.  
  
Unless everyone counted Starscream as something of Megatron's, because Grimlock wanted to claim him, too. Provided Starscream agreed. Provided he understood that Grimlock meant to keep him. That it wasn't just a one-time thing.  
  
He'd long thought Megatron both underused and abused his second. Starscream was brilliant and beautiful and deserving of far more than what Megatron gave him. Grimlock had read everything the Autobots had on Starscream. He'd studied mission reports and Jazz's observations and Smokescreen's unofficial ones and Ratchet's diagnoses.  
  
It had become something of an obsession, one tempered with genuine interest. Grimlock had long deduced that if Megatron ever decided to take Starscream seriously, or Starscream ever attempted to work with Megatron, the Autobots would lose the war. Lo and behold, he'd been right. Not that Optimus Prime listened to him.  
  
“Him Starscream Decepticon,” Snarl said as he followed after Grimlock, each stomp heavy and loud. His field was a frazzled burst of discontent against Grimlock's.  
  
“So am I now.” Grimlock headed into the seating area and flopped down on the couch, only to be joined by Snarl and Slag on either side of him. “So are we.”  
  
“Him loud,” Slag added.  
  
“Stab you Grimlock in back,” Snarl felt it necessary to say.  
  
Grimlock glared at both of them. “Don't believe everything you hear.”  
  
“What? It true!” Snarl insisted, bristling. “It no secret! Starscream always betray Megatron. Always say he leader of Decepticons.” He heaved to his pedes, energy field a pulsing whirl of anger.  
  
“Him Snarl right,” Slag said, putting the two of them in agreement for once. “Him Starscream dangerous. You Grimlock be careful. Him Starscream sneaky.”  
  
Grimlock growled a warning note, which shut them both up right quick. “That's my decision to make. You think I can't handle one Seeker?”  
  
“Just sayin',” Slag muttered, folding his arms. “Him Starscream traitor.”  
  
“You Slag and you Snarl hush!” Swoop shouted as he poked his head out of the washracks, dripping cleanser everywhere and exciting the cleaning drones into a little beeping frenzy. “Him Starscream nice! And him Grimlock deserve to be happy!” He followed it up with a squawk of protest.  
  
Despite himself, Grimlock chuckled. “It's okay, Swoop. They don't mean any harm.” Actually, given the menace radiating his direction, it looked like a fight was at hand. But what they didn't need was for Swoop to get riled up right now.  
  
He was still healing, Ratchet said. He needed time to get his systems up to their normal speed. Which meant, he needed to stay relatively emotionally stable.  
  
Easier said than done considering he had horrible memory purges every night. He never recharged alone anymore. Not that it was a terrible thing to cuddle Swoop.  
  
Swoop gave them all a suspicious look, but he ducked back into the washracks, hopefully with the intention of drying himself off.  
  
Grimlock pushed to his pedes and whirled toward the other two, folding his hands over his chestplate. “Me Grimlock decide about Starscream,” he growled. “Not your business. Not your choice. You Slag and you Snarl can leave if want. Join Autobots. But me Grimlock stay.”  
  
Slag scoffed.  
  
Snarl sneered.  
  
“No join Autobots again,” Slag grumbled, his plating drawing tight. His field shrank down. “No like Decepticons either. Just want Dinobots.”  
  
“Want Papa Jack and Mama Ratch though,” Snarl said as his gaze fell, and his armor slicked down. “Make sure Mama Ratch okay.”  
  
Grimlock nodded. None of them were fond of the Autobots as a whole, only considering them marginally better than the Decepticons. Some of the Autobots had tried to be friendly, and they would always adore Ratchet and Wheeljack, but for the most part, none of the surviving Dinobots were sad to walk away from the Autobots. He suspected Snarl and Slag kept their badges only because it hadn't occurred to them to remove the brands.  
  
Shockwave had removed Swoop's, and Swoop had made no indication he wanted it back. The empty places on his wings didn't bother him.  
  
Grimlock had scrubbed away Autobot red and replaced it with Decepticon purple by necessity. Though it was his hope that given plenty of time, they could do away with badges entirely. Brands would only continue to divide the Cybertronians, not unite them. He recognized their necessity for now, but once the lines began to blur and the walls started to fall, Grimlock would propose to eliminate them.  
  
It was on his large and ever-growing To Do List.  
  
Grimlock had plans. He had goals. He was damn tired of seeing mechs die for a war that no longer had a purpose. If he had to bang some heads around to see peace, he would. Even if that head was Optimus Prime's.  
  
Megatron was a monster best left forgotten in the dregs of the Smelter's Pit.  
  
And Starscream had proven to be one of the best rewards of them all.  
  
“Things complicated,” Grimlock finally said after a moment to cycle a ventilation. “Care necessary. Visit Ratchet and Wheeljack once things settle. Understood?”  
  
Two sets of pedes shuffled. Two mechs ducked their helm. Two of his Dinobots muttered something like agreement, but not without a sullen hint to their vocals.  
  
Grimlock swept them up into a hug anyway, and grinned to himself as Slag squawked and Snarl squeaked and they fought for the space of a second before returning the embrace.  
  
Dinobots. They stuck together. Even when they disagreed.  
  
“Trust me, all right?” Grimlock said once they worked their way free, plating ruffled and fields speaking of mingled affection and exasperation. “I'm always going to do what's best for us.”  
  
“Fine,” Snarl said as he rustled his spines. “We trust you Grimlock. For now.”  
  
“Until me Slag beat you Grimlock and become leader,” Slag said and jostled Snarl with his elbow. “Come. Go spar.”  
  
Snarl jostled him back, and Grimlock huffed a laugh. He dropped himself back down onto the couch as they started sniping at each other.  
  
“You Grimlock take bath!” Snarl hollered over his shoulder right before the two disappeared into the adjacent training room.  
  
Grimlock ignored them and settled into the couch, making himself comfortable. He hunted around for the remote to the entertainment console, though he kept Snarl's comment in mind. He looked down at himself, but all he could see were a few scrapes of gray, blue, and red paint.  
  
He didn't stink.  
  
Did he?  
  
The door to the washracks opened, and Swoop's helm popped out again. “Them Snarl and Slag gone?”  
  
Grimlock chuckled and gestured for the flyer to join him. “Yes. They're gone. You clean?”  
  
“You Grimlock aren't,” Swoop said, but he fully emerged from the washracks, this time without dripping and his plating exhibiting a gleaming shine.  
  
“Not you, too.” Grimlock groaned. He shifted over to make room on the couch and warmth swept through his spark when Swoop took the unstated invitation.  
  
Swoop tucked his wing panels in close to his frame and sat down next to Grimlock. He tucked himself up under Grimlock's right arm and stole the remote before Grimlock could see what he was doing.  
  
“Me Swoop's turn to pick,” he said with a _wark_ of laughter.  
  
Grimlock held up his free hand. “Sure, sure. So long as it's not whatever the Decepticons are broadcasting.”  
  
Swoop snerked. “You Grimlock Decepticon now.”  
  
“Don't remind me.” Grimlock settled against the back of the couch, Swoop a familiar warmth next to him, and comforted himself with that fact.  
  
Swoop patted him on the thigh. “Him Starscream good match,” he said. “Ignore them Snarl and Slag. Them jealous.”  
  
Grimlock barked a laugh. “You think so?”  
  
“Me Swoop know so.” Swoop sounded smug.  
  
The television settled on some kind of show from Earth.  
  
Grimlock suspected they had Blaster to blame for filling the airwaves with pointless entertainment. Though it was better than the kind of shows Megatron put on. Grimlock made a mental note to ensure that no copies remained of those recordings. Jazz had, in all likelihood, destroyed them all, but it didn’t hurt to check.  
  
“Him Starscream smart, not allowed to show it, like you Grimlock,” Swoop continued, craning his neck to look up at Grimlock. “Him Starscream underappreciated. Strong, too. Good match!”  
  
Grimlock patted Swoop's shoulder. “Thank you. I'm glad you're on my side.”  
  
Swoop's field flexed against Grimlock's, warm with affection. He'd always been the gentler of the five Dinobots, he and Sludge both.  
  
Guilt swamped Grimlock then. It felt wrong to indulge in Swoop's happy field, because he had failed Swoop so thoroughly. He hadn't protected him. He hadn't protected Sludge. He'd almost lost his entire team because of Optimus Prime and the Decepticons.  
  
He had no right to demand trust of them, but Swoop offered it without question and Slag and Snarl backed down without hardly a fight.  
  
He owed his brothers everything.  
  
“Swoop,” Grimlock said, brushing Swoop's shoulder to get his attention again. “Me Grimlock sorry you were taken. Sorry Sludge got killed.”  
  
Swoop cycled his optics. He tilted his helm to the side. “Why you Grimlock apologize? Not you Grimlock's fault.”  
  
“Me Grimlock should've protected all of you. It me Grimlock's job.”  
  
Swoop patted him on the thigh again. “You Grimlock don't know everything. You Grimlock tried. Him Shockwave enemy. Him Megatron villain. Never you Grimlock.”  
  
“You Swoop best brother,” Grimlock said and squeezed Swoop against his side in the closest thing they could get to a hug right now.  
  
Swoop warbled a laugh. “Me Swoop know. Now hush. Show is on.”  
  
Grimlock chuckled and obeyed.  
  


0o0o0

  
  
Optimus returned, and it didn't take long for the whining to begin.  
  
Starscream had already braced himself for it, so when his comm began to lit up with conference requests from Metalhawk, he wasn't surprised. When Ultra Magnus started adding to the noise within an hour, he had to lean forward on the table and laugh.  
  
At least Optimus’ second was polite about it. His carefully worded but concise request didn't quite match the ridiculousness of the situation. He had even gone to the trouble of arranging a time for the leadership of all three factions to discuss use of the space bridge.  
  
Buried in Ultra Magnus' polite tone was a hint of aggravation, no doubt with Metalhawk. Starscream thought he had the monopoly on single-handedly irritating every single mech around him, but honestly, Metalhawk had him beat. He even had Ultra Magnus – notorious for being fair – gritting his denta and leaving frosty notes at the end of his communiques.  
  
The icing on the oil cake, however, was sitting in the meeting and watching Optimus Prime start to get flustered. That almost made it worth Starscream's own rising annoyance. If not for Grimlock constantly reminding him to keep calm and shut his mouth, he might have been the one to say something unfortunate.  
  
Starscream had to give Optimus credit. He held his temper even when it was clear all he wanted to do was wring Metalhawk's necks. At least there was one benefit out of it.  
  
Autobots and Decepticons united over their mutual distaste for Neutrals. Probably not the effect Metalhawk had been aiming for. Sucked to be him.  
  
Still, there was one thing Starscream knew for sure -- he would much rather be on this side of the table with Optimus Prime than against him. Especially when it came to politics. Also that whatever it was blooming between Optimus and Soundwave was simultaneously adorable and horrifying. He couldn't wait to see what came of that.  
  
It gave him a kind of gleeful anticipation.  
  
Starscream took his leave of the meeting as soon as possible and didn't care that he left the others to deal with the unfortunate aftermath. Grimlock was there, and he'd fill Starscream in later if it was at all important.  
  
Besides, Starscream had better things to do than listen to Metalhawk whine about not getting his way. He had construction inspections to carry out, parole requests to consider, and he'd promised Skywarp and Thundercracker he'd go flying with them later. With Megatron out of the picture, all three of them wanted to try and mend the cracks that had formed in their trine.  
  
“If I hadn't seen it for myself, I wouldn't have believed it.”  
  
Starscream froze, discomfort dripping down his spinal strut. He turned slowly, gathering his wits about him, as a familiar frame stepped out of the shadows behind him. He wondered how long Sky-Byte had been lurking. Had he waited for Starscream specifically? Or had he been playing the spy?  
  
“You'll have to be more specific.” Starscream inclined his helm. “Are you surprised that I'm alive? Are you surprised that Autobots and Decepticons are working together? Or did you never think you'd have to face the fact you abandoned your oath?”  
  
Sky-Byte folded his arms over his ridged chestplate. “None of the above,” he said, his deep vocals echoing around the corridor. “Never thought I'd see the day when _Starscream_ listened to his superiors and didn't throw a fit to get his way.”  
  
Starscream gnawed on the inside of his cheek and reminded himself that attacking Sky-Byte would result in a diplomatic incident. “Time has a funny way of changing mechs. Is there something I can help you with, Sky-Byte? You look lost.”  
  
The Neutral second-in-command laughed. “I'm exactly where I want to be, but thanks. You're the one who needs assistance. You seem to have a gross misconception of us.”  
  
“Oh, please. Do educate me,” Starscream purred insincerely. He twisted his wrist whilst twirling a finger. “I would hate to offend.”  
  
Sky-Byte stepped further into the light, illuminating the high-gloss to his finish and the complete lack of imperfection anywhere on his frame. This was a mech who hadn't seen battle in quite some time.  
  
Was it a small wonder he had abandoned the Decepticons to live in peace with the Neutrals? That didn't give him the right to judge others for their determination to fight.  
  
“You think because we are Neutral, we are weak,” Sky-Byte said, straightening. He was taller than Starscream, but only just. He definitely outmassed Starscream. “You think we don't know how to fight, and that we won't defend ourselves.”  
  
“When did I ever say that?”  
  
“You didn't have to.” Sky-Byte chuffed a ventilation. “Cybertron is our home, too, and we'll fight for the right to live here. Even if it means taking on you and your kind.”  
  
Starscream had the feeling he didn't mean the Decepticons alone.  
  
Sky-Byte took a step closer, until his field crowded along the edge of Starscream's own. “Metalhawk intends to ensure that Cybertron is safe for everyone.”  
  
“Good for him,” Starscream said. “Though I'd like to see what he thinks he can do differently.”  
  
“Are you worried?” Sky-Byte asked with a tilt of his helm and a slow, lazy grin that displayed a mouthful of sharpened denta. “You should be. Decepticon and Autobot alike. Do you even know how many of us there are?”  
  
Starscream popped an orbital ridge. “Us?” He folded his arms over his cockpit and cocked a hip. “I didn't realize the Neutrals were so organized.”  
  
Sky-Byte chuckled. “There's a lot about us you don't know. You spent so much time shooting at each other and trying to kill one another, you never stopped to consider the collateral damage.”  
  
Irritation flicked through Starscream's processor. He fought it back. Sky-Byte was trying to get a rise out of him, and he wouldn't give the discount Sharkticon the pleasure of a reaction. Starscream was Air Commander of the Decepticons. He'd put up with Megatron for millennia.  
  
He could keep his cool around some useless layabout of a Neutral.  
  
“You're not so pure yourself,” Starscream retorted. “You can scrub off your badge, but you can't hide the fact you used to be one of us. You're just as guilty.”  
  
Sky-Byte rested a clawed hand over his chestplate, where an empty plate of armor gave testament to the brand which had once been present. “I have repented. I am fighting to right the wrongs. What have you done?”  
  
“Ended the war for one thing.” Starscream snorted and stared at Sky-Byte. “Did you come here to warn me or threaten me? Because I have little time for the former, and I welcome the challenge of the latter.”  
  
Please. He survived Megatron. If a Neutral thought they could send a shiver down Starscream's backstrut, they grossly overestimated their importance. Starscream did not fear anyone or anything.  
  
Sky-Byte chuckled. “None of the above,” he said. “I thought we were having a friendly conversation.”  
  
“Friendly my aft.” Starscream angled toward the former Decepticon, letting the overhead light catch a gleam on his null rays. “If you're going to threaten me, you might as well do it properly. Just what should we be afraid of, pray tell?”  
  
“Numbers.”  
  
Starscream arched an orbital ridge. “I may not be Perceptor, but I can calculate.”  
  
“Good.” Sky-Byte's smirk widened. “Then when the Neutrals return, outnumbering both Autobots and Decepticons four to one I might add, you can count all the ways you and your kind are fragged to the Pit.”  
  
Four to one? Even if Sky-Byte wasn't exaggerating, Starscream knew damn well that more Cybertronians had attempted to flee the war rather than take part in it. Especially once the city-wide bombings started.  
  
He also knew that over the millennia, both Autobots and Decepticons lost soldiers to going AWOL. He thought four to one was an overestimate, but then, given the increased rate of fatalities just in the past year alone, maybe Sky-Byte underestimated.  
  
Didn't mean Starscream was afraid though. The Neutrals were even more factionalized than the Autobots and Decepticons. They didn't have a single unifying goal or a leader to keep them focused.  
  
For now.  
  
Starscream's wings flicked. “I'll keep that in mind,” he said dryly. “Now don't you have work to do? Nova Cronum isn't going to rebuild itself.”  
  
“No, it isn't. And you lot have left us a lot of work to do.” Sky-Byte straightened, not at all cowed. He waved a hand of dismissal and turned on a heelstrut. “See you at the next meeting, Air Commander.”  
  
Starscream didn't respond and watched Sky-Byte go with narrowed optics. The fingers of one hand drummed against his opposite arm.  
  
It was unsettling. Not so much that Starscream was afraid, but that he was wary. Why would Sky-Byte warn him? Granted, it had come across as a threat, but really. All it did was encourage them to make preparations.  
  
Starscream cycled a ventilation and shook his helm. He did have work to do. He would worry about Sky-Byte later. Though he did make a mental note to speak with both Optimus and Grimlock about the potential danger Metalhawk might become.  
  
It seemed the Neutrals weren’t as willing to share Cybertron as they claimed.  
  


****


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme song: "A Little Wicked," Valerie Broussard

When Ratchet showed up outside Decepticon Headquarters in New Iacon, flanked by two obvious soldiers, and a deep-set scowl on his face, Starscream felt a twinge of aggravation. A helmache, if you would, building at the back of his processor.  
  
He really didn't want to deal with this today. But Grimlock was otherwise occupied, Cyclonus was off-shift, and while Starscream could foist this off on Thundercracker, his wingmate didn't have the access codes to the brig. Also, the Autobots were getting impatient, Ratchet was done with delaying care and really, one did not deny the Hatchet anything when he had a legitimate concern.  
  
Starscream planted a smile on his face. “You're right on time,” he said, trying not to cut his gaze at the two mechs who were obviously Ratchet's escorts.  
  
“It wasn't my idea,” the Autobot CMO growled. His gaze shifted to the slim blue mech on one side of him, and the brightly painted brat on the other. “You two wait out here.”  
  
“Uh, Magnus said not to let you go in there alone,” the flame-colored mech said. He shifted from pede to pede and gave Starscream something of a nervous look.  
  
The blue mech beside him nodded in solidarity.  
  
“Oh, for Primus' sake.” Ratchet rolled his optics and whirled toward them, planting his hands on his hips. “You think that I am incapable of defending myself, is that it? You think I can't handle one screechy Seeker?”  
  
“Hey,” Starscream said with a lazy drawl. “I resemble that remark.”  
  
Ratchet snorted.  
  
“But Ultra Magnus said--”  
  
Ratchet held up a hand, cutting the obvious youngling off, and then pointed a finger at both of them. “Stay. Here,” he repeated, enunciating his words. “Else I'll make sure when we start making maintenance appointments, you two get Knock Out. Got me?”  
  
Starscream's lips twitched. Using the Decepticon medic as a scare tactic? How rude. Except that Ratchet had a point. Knock Out was a passable medic and a better surgeon. He could repair someone, given the proper incentive, it was the definition of incentive that caused many a problem.  
  
Starscream found himself going to Glit when he had a minor issue, like say a misaligned joint that he couldn't reach. But he'd already told Thundercracker and Skywarp that if he was ever seriously injured, he wanted to be taken to the Autobot medical team. Not Knock Out. Or Ambulon as Starscream didn't trust a Neutral any further than he could throw them.  
  
Blue and Flame lowered their helms, muttering 'yes, sir' in sullen, but meek tones.  
  
Satisfied, Ratchet whirled back toward Starscream and stalked forward, leaving Starscream no choice but to hurry to catch up to him.  
  
“Let's get this over with,” Ratchet near-snarled. He was obviously uncomfortable, given how tight his armor was clamped to his frame. His field was restrained, and what little bits leaked free made Starscream nauseous.  
  
It wasn't fear, but Ratchet did _not_ want to be here.  
  
“I seem to recall the other medic petitioning to come here,” Starscream said in a mild tone as Ratchet drew up short at the entrance, unable to key the panel open.  
  
Starscream flicked his fingers over the panel, and the door slid open, Ratchet barging inside as though trying to get this done as soon as possible. Starscream couldn't blame him. While Ratchet had spent the majority of his time in Constructicon custody, Megatron had not resisted the opportunity to berth Optimus' CMO and dear friend.  
  
In fact, until Megatron got Optimus, Ratchet was his favorite toy. The Constructicons had often sniffled about it.  
  
“I was not about to have First Aid come here and talk to that monster,” Ratchet said as Starscream's slower pace forced him to slow down.  
  
Starscream intended to take him a roundabout route, one that would ensure as few Decepticons as possible would see them, and no one would be in a position to harass Ratchet. Not to mention there were more than a few Constructicons wandering the upper floors for their daily, temporary release in order to aid construction.  
  
“He would have been better suited,” Starscream pointed out. “He was actually there whenever Shockwave was doing whatever he was doing in there.”  
  
Starscream had read Shockwave's notes. He'd seen what was left of the data Shockwave hadn't destroyed.  
  
He didn't understand a bit of it except that Shockwave seemed to be trying to re-create the circumstances that had spawned the Autobot split-spark twins. His notes seemed to suggest he was trying to make newsparks since Vector Sigma was no longer an option. In theory, it was a noble pursuit. Their population dwindled and without Vector Sigma, there was no hope to repopulate.  
  
Starscream hoped to pursue _some_ of Shockwave's theories further. Not the abhorrent ones involving the Autobot twins, the Dinobot, and the last piece of Defensor. But other theories could have some merit, ones that would call for volunteers, rather than unwilling participants.  
  
In this, he and Shockwave were in agreement. Surely there was some answer in their sparks. Surely, there was some mix of myth and legend and reality that could ensure the continuation of their species.  
  
Starscream also knew better than to suggest this aloud. Autobots and their sensitivities. Pah. Starscream was realistic. He hadn't cared for the torture Shockwave inflicted on his subjects. But he couldn't deny the research was necessary.  
  
“Which is exactly why he's staying away from Shockwave unless it becomes absolutely necessary,” Ratchet retorted in a near-growl. He cut a look at Starscream as if daring him to argue.  
  
Starscream was wise enough to let the topic drop.  
  
“As you insist,” Starscream demurred. They arrived at the lift, and he gestured Ratchet in ahead of him. He hit the button for the lowest level. “Is there anything else the Autobots have need from us right now?”  
  
Ratchet folded his arms and leaned against the side of the lift. His helm tilted, his blue optics sharp and cutting. “Yeah. Why don't you tell me what the deal is with Soundwave.”  
  
Starscream cycled his optics. “Beg pardon?”  
  
“He attached himself to Optimus pretty quickly,” Ratchet pointed out with a raised orbital ridge. “Or didn't you notice?”  
  
Starscream frowned. He had noticed. He hadn't been surprised either. Soundwave was drawn to mechs with power and authority. Megatron was a case in point. Though that did make him wonder why Soundwave hadn't gravitated toward Grimlock. Soundwave attached himself to Optimus long before the battle for leadership of the Decepticons began.  
  
“Soundwave's free to make his own choices,” Starscream hedged. Soundwave might not be a Decepticon anymore, but he remained reluctant to give away Soundwave's secrets. What little of them Starscream knew. “He's smart. He knows how to keep himself safe.”  
  
Ratchet stared at him. He drummed the fingers of one hand against his own armor. “You can't tell me it's self-preservation. Soundwave's never further than Optimus' shadow.”  
  
“You worried?”  
  
Ratchet snorted. “Optimus can take care of himself. I just want to make sure it's not some plot of yours to undermine us.”  
  
Starscream barked a laugh as the lift stopped in the basement. “Soundwave and I don't trust each other that much. If he’s planning anything, it has nothing to do with me. If you're that curious, medic, you should ask him yourself.” He gestured for Ratchet to precede him off the lift.  
  
The hallway beyond was brightly lit and pockmarked with multiple cameras from all angles. Starscream was taking no chances. Some of these Decepticons would happily murder him in his recharge, and he rather liked living.  
  
“Soundwave isn't chatty,” Ratchet retorted. Disgruntled was his default mood apparently.  
  
“Some things never change,” Starscream said as they approached the door at the end of the hall, this one also locked. He paused, however, and waited to make sure Ratchet was paying attention. “Are you sure you want to do this?”  
  
Ratchet narrowed his optics. “Do I look like I make a habit of changing my mind?”  
  
Starscream sighed and gritted his denta. Several responses cropped up, but as none of them were polite and likely to lead to an impromptu exchange of useless snark, he said nothing. He punched his code into the panel.  
  
They had made every effort possible to ensure that their prisoners were contained. Some were more dangerous than others, such as those who remained loyal to Megatron. They were kept on an entirely separate floor until such time as Grimlock could spare to deal with him. The jury was still out on what that meant.  
  
Exile, perhaps, save for the fact that they could very well come back with an army. Starscream was more than aware Tarn and his murderous reprobates were still out there, and they were very loyal to Megatron. Tarn might return to Cybertron for revenge. He and his entire team were a threat, and Starscream was certain they were not the only ones.  
  
Execution seemed the safer bet, but even Starscream was loath to start shooting prisoners in the spark. He didn't want to wait for them to prove they were a threat either. It was a conundrum. Therefore, the prisoners could rot until a decision was made, and no one would shed a tear.  
  
This particular floor held the prisoners who were willing to submit to Grimlock's leadership, but had committed atrocities against the Autobots. This made them political liabilities. They were divided into two groups: those who were useful, and those who were not.  
  
Some had already been released on a trial parole. Reflector, as far as Starscream could tell, behaved. He kept his helm down. He reported to his shifts. He worked without complaint. If he continued this behavior, his parole would gradually turn into freedom.  
  
There were others, too.  
  
But Shockwave was one prisoner who the three Decepticon leaders could not decide what to do with. He was valuable. In these uncertain times, they needed scientists. But did they need scientists with such morally dark centers? Shockwave remained unapologetic.  
  
“It was necessary,” he was prone to say. “It had to be done. For science.”  
  
Grimlock held a personal grudge. He had only to look at Swoop and any interest he might have had in scientific advancement came to a screeching halt. Cyclonus, as always, voted on the side of Cybertron. If Shockwave could figure out how to repopulate their species, then so long as he had oversight, he should be allowed back into his lab.  
  
Starscream was somewhere in the middle. He loathed Shockwave, but couldn't deny his use. He, like those in the more secure ward, was a conundrum that they all pushed aside. Eventually, they would solve it.  
  
There were three guards down here, all of them Cyclonus' mechs. Starscream didn't recognize any of them, but security was Cyclonus' area, not Starscream's. His HUD lit up with their designations, Scourge the most prominent of them. Scourge was Cyclonus' second and now served as his head of security.  
  
“Commander Starscream,” the blue-white flyer rasped with a dip of his helm. “We've removed the prisoner to a meeting room per your orders.” He gestured to the first of two they had available. “It is soundproof as you requested.”  
  
“Thank you, Scourge. Did he cause any trouble?”  
  
Scourage shook his helm. “No. But he does wish to petition, again, for his release.”  
  
Starscream's frown deepened. Shockwave behaved better than most of the prisoners, but his constant petitions were irritating.  
  
“I'll keep that in mind.” Starscream gestured for Ratchet to follow him, the medic eying the Decepticon soldiers with nothing short of suspicion.  
  
His optics kept flicking to the other corridor where they kept those imprisoned in cells. There was more community allowed here. These particular prisoners could talk to each other if they wanted, unlike those in the more secure ward.  
  
Starscream opened the door to the interrogation room and entered ahead of Ratchet. Shockwave was indeed present, sitting on the other side of the table. He wasn't visibly restrained, but then, Shockwave had been nothing short of a model prisoner. He wasn't making efforts to escape.  
  
Not that Starscream intended to lighten the security on him.  
  
Starscream dismissed the soldier standing guard. He suspected Ratchet wanted privacy for this.  
  
“Shockwave, the Autobot CMO has a few questions he'd like to ask you,” Starscream said as Ratchet stepped in behind him. “It is in your best interest to answer honestly.”  
  
“I understand. I have nothing to hide.” Shockwave's vocals were almost pleasant.  
  
“Do you know why I'm here?” Ratchet asked as he took the only available chair. His field vibrated with detectable tension before he was able to draw it in.  
  
Shockwave tilted his helm. “I imagine it is to inquire about one of my subjects as I am personally in perfect repair.”  
  
“Sideswipe and Sunstreaker,” Ratchet said and he tapped his finger on the table. “They are not your subjects. They are your victims.”  
  
Shockwave shifted his weight. “Semantics,” he said, heedless to the tension thickening the air. “Ask your question, medic.”  
  
Ratchet gritted his denta, the grinding of metal on metal audible. “I want to know what you did and how I can help them.”  
  
“Of course you do.” Shockwave rested one hand on the table. “The answer is simple. They need to bond.”  
  
Ratchet leaned forward, his optics cycling down to angry slits. “They are already bonded,” he hissed. His hands tightened into fists until his knuckles creaked. “To each other.”  
  
Shockwave inclined his helm. “Yes, but their bond has destabilized. It is no longer capable of equalizing. They need a third to balance it out.”  
  
Starscream frowned and folded his arms over his cockpit. His tanks rolled with nausea, and his plating clamped down to hide his unease.  
  
“What did you do to them, you sick slagger?” Ratchet snarled. His engine revved to a higher pitch.  
  
Shockwave remained solid in the face of the medic's rightful fury. He glanced at Starscream as though seeking permission.  
  
“Tell him,” Starscream ground out. “I don't care about whatever you think is classified. You will tell him what he needs to know, or I will see to it that you never see anything beyond your prison cell.”  
  
“Very well.” Shockwave's stump of an arm, lacking his cannon per prison rules, rested on the top of the table. “They are twins, formed of a split-spark. I attempted to recreate those circumstances in an effort to discern what caused the destabilization and split in the first place.”  
  
Ratchet's field lashed through the room, so thick with outrage and anger that Starscream's own drew in tight. It was enough to make him dizzy.  
  
“You made them fuse?” he demanded, vocals a near shriek.  
  
Shockwave nodded. “Yes. However, I was quite disappointed. When they separated again, there was no discernible difference in their personalities. They were by all accounts the same mechs they had been before, albeit with a new dependency for physical proximity that hadn't been present before.”  
  
“That shouldn't have caused their current state though,” Starscream said with a frown. “They merge all the time as I understand it.” The Reflector triplets certainly did. And so had Runamuck and Runabout. Merging was a given for twinned sparks.  
  
Ratchet leaned harder against the table until it creaked beneath him. “Because Shockwave didn't just have them merge, he had them fuse back into a single spark. There's a difference.” He ex-vented sharply. “How many times, you monster? How many times did you make them fuse and then force them to split?”  
  
Starscream's wings shivered. He felt ill right down to his protoform. A bout with dizziness made him lean against the wall so he didn't fall down. His loathing for Shockwave increased tenfold.  
  
“I repeated my experiment seventeen times,” Shockwave said, still in that coldly even voice of his. “It failed every time. I was close to conceding that my hypothesis was incorrect, and was in the process of seeking a third spark, when my laboratory was raided.”  
  
Ratchet shot to his pedes, the chair knocking down behind him. Starscream was there in a flash, laying a hand on his shoulder, hoping to keep Ratchet from throwing himself across the table. Ratchet shrugged off his hand and slapped him away.  
  
“Back off, Starscream! I'm not going to attack him,” Ratchet snarled, even though every rattling plate on his frame suggested otherwise. “And don't touch me again.”  
  
Starscream held up his hands and obeyed, stepping back a stride. He and Ratchet were of a height, and he had no doubt he was more skilled than Ratchet. But Ratchet had more mass than him and anger on his side. Not to mention Starscream knew better than to cause harm to Optimus' close friend. He didn't want a fight.  
  
But he wouldn't let Ratchet attack Shockwave either.  
  
“I won't,” Starscream said. “So long as you stay on this side of the table.”  
  
Ratchet cast him a sideways look before returning his attention to Shockwave. He leaned forward, palms slapping down on the table. “What gave you the right to do that?”  
  
“Our population is diminished, medic. I did what was necessary.” Shockwave leaned back in his chair. “Your soldiers will live. Convince someone to bond with them, and their sparks will stabilize.”  
  
“There's no other solution?” Starscream demanded.  
  
“No.” Shockwave did not sound the least bit apologetic. “Separating them is liable to kill them, and they are no longer capable of regulating their spark energy on their own. It was an unfortunate side effect.”  
  
“Unfortunate side effect!” Ratchet hissed, and his fingers scraped at the table. “You could have killed them!”  
  
“But I did not.”  
  
Ratchet's engine reached a dangerous pitch. His field was a nauseating blend of fury and revulsion. Starscream worried that it wouldn't take much more to send the medic across the table, and as it was, they might need Shockwave in the future. Piece of scum that he was.  
  
“I think that's enough for today,” Starscream said as he discreetly sent a ping to Scourge to retrieve Shockwave. “You have the answer you came for, Ratchet.” Even if it wasn't one any of them wanted to hear.  
  
Ratchet pushed back from the table, his armor clamped so tightly to his protoform that it had to have hurt. His jaw was clenched, his hands drawn into fists.  
  
“You're right. I'm done here.”  
  
He spun on a heel and shoved out of the room before Starscream could say anything further. He sighed and rubbed his faceplate, feeling an ache forming in his helm.  
  
“I will be interested to know the results of that,” Shockwave said into the following silence. “I am curious which spark type might stabilize them better.”  
  
Starscream glared at him. “You are lucky that we might find a use for you, Shockwave. Grimlock's not going to be happy to hear you antagonized the mech he considers his creator.”  
  
“The Dinobot is ruled by emotion. It can't be helped,” Shockwave said. “But you and I know better, Starscream. Such things are necessary if Cybertron is to survive.”  
  
Starscream's wings twitched. “We are nothing alike,” he snapped as Scourge came into the room with another mech.  
  
“We have more in common than you think,” Shockwave said.  
  
Starscream shuddered. “Put him back in his cell, Scourge. His request for release is denied.”  
  
“Yes, Commander.”  
  
Starscream left before Shockwave could try to persuade him otherwise. He had a sudden need to visit the washracks and scrub himself down with boiling solvent. Going through Shockwave's lab had been awful enough. Reading Shockwave's notes had left him ill. Speaking with Shockwave was a special kind of horror.  
  
Ratchet waited for him by the main door, glaring at the locked panel as though blaming it for his inner distress.  
  
“Will it work?” Starscream asked as he keyed open the panel.  
  
Ratchet rubbed at his chevron. “In theory. I don't know. It's not as though I can test it out. And it's not like it's a viable option.”  
  
“Can they function in their current state?”  
  
They stepped into the lift and back up they went. Starscream checked the schedule to ensure they wouldn't run into any Constructicons on their way out.  
  
“They can't be more than five feet from each other,” Ratchet said with an audible sigh. “The only thing we can have them do is monitor duty, but the lack of movement will be a further stress on their systems.”  
  
Starscream folded his arms, contemplating. “What about a few friendly merges? Do you think that might help?”  
  
“It's worth a try. But convincing those two to trust someone with their sparks after what Shockwave did? That's another matter.” Ratchet rubbed harder at his chevron as the lift stopped on the main floor. “They were rather insular before all this. I can't imagine they are more willing to open up to someone now.”  
  
“At least they have a choice this time,” Starscream said. “For a certain definition anyway. You can give them their options, let them decide, and in the meantime, try and find another way. Maybe you'll get lucky.”  
  
Ratchet snorted. “And maybe Primus will reach up and finally give us the help we've been praying for.”  
  
Ah, yes. Ratchet was known for his optimism.  
  
They pushed through the main doors. Ratchet's escorts waited outside for him, playfully sparring with each other. At least they felt relaxed enough to do so.  
  
“If you can think of anything else Shockwave might be able to answer, we're willing to accommodate you again,” Starscream said. “As a gesture of good faith.”  
  
Ratchet stared at him before shaking his helm. “If it wasn't for Grimlock, I wouldn't believe a single word out of your mouth, Starscream.” He started down the steps, nothing in his field speaking of calm. “Though I'll take you over Megatron any day.”  
  
“Should I take that as a compliment?” Starscream asked, burying his amusement behind a blank expression.  
  
“Take it however you like,” Ratchet called back to him and gestured toward his two guards. “Come on, brats. Let's go back to Polyhex. I'm done here.”  
  
Starscream lingered long enough to make sure that the three Autobots were on their way out without anyone hassling them. Hopefully, despite Shockwave's actions, helping the medic had accorded them some good will from the Autobots.  
  
That being said, Starscream turned around and headed back into the command center. He needed to find Grimlock. There was a certain matter that needed attending today. They had three Phase Sixers sitting in a locked room in the medbay, and Knock Out was starting to irritate Starscream with the number of pings he'd sent expressing his discomfort with their vacant stares.  
  
He sent a ping to his lord and master and, as of late, his berth-partner, and waited. He expected to find that Grimlock was either touring New Iacon to check on the reconstruction or overseeing some of their parolees or even in the command center. But no. Grimlock pinged back to say he was in his habsuite.  
  
Not, Starscream needed to point out, the penthouse Megatron had used. That particular suite had been emptied out, stripped clean, and sanitized. Still, no one wanted to live there. The massive Prime suite thus sat empty and unused. It was probably for the best.  
  
Instead, Grimlock had commandeered the penthouse of a nearby apartment complex. Iacon had always been a city for grounders so the complex wasn't as tall as something Starscream might find in Vos. But it was large enough for Grimlock and his extended family. Because where one Dinobot was, the rest were sure to follow.  
  
Starscream changed course and aimed for the squat apartment building, which looked to be in poor shape on the outside. But Scrapper had gone over it from top to bottom and declared it safe for habitation. It didn't look pretty, but it was stable. Which was not something they could say for most of New Iacon, despite all the rebuilding they'd been doing before the successful coup.  
  
Megatron, after all, hadn't been interested in rebuilding Cybertron. He'd only wanted to expand and as soon as possible.  
  
Grimlock, apparently, didn't care about security either because the main doors to the apartment complex were flung wide open. Starscream strolled inside and followed the sound of shouting to the second pair of doors that led to a large room Grimlock had converted into a training arena.  
  
No one spotted him at first, which provided Starscream with an excellent opportunity to observe. He lingered in the doorway and watched with a mixture of exasperation and surprise.  
  
All of the surviving Dinobots were here which was a rare occurrence. Usually at least one of them was on duty.  
  
Grimlock and Snarl sparred in one corner. Though Starscream wasn't sure if he should call it sparring since Snarl seemed to be spending most of his time on the mat with Grimlock pinning him down. But if there was one thing a Dinobot could do, it was take a hit. Snarl bounced back up and demanded more.  
  
Opposite from them was an unlikely duo. Slag sparred with Brawl of all mechs. Starscream knew Brawl had been lingering around New Iacon more than any of the other Combaticons, but he would have never called this. At least their training session looked a bit more even. Nice to know even someone as perpetually angry as Slag could make a friend.  
  
Swoop was present as well. He sat on a stack of scavenged mats, huddled over a datapad. He wasn't alone, however. Thundercracker was here with him, and he appeared to be explaining whatever was on the datapad.  
  
Starscream's optics narrowed. Wasn't he supposed to be elsewhere right now?  
  
Grimlock threw Snarl again, the Dinobot skidding across the mat. One of his spikes caught on the ragged cover with a loud rip. Snarl sprawled, his vents dragging in desperate gulps of air.  
  
“Yield,” he gasped, helm thunking backward.  
  
Grimlock stood over him, his visor bright from exertion. His own fans spun at full bore, audible to Starscream despite the distance. But as a leader, Grimlock knew the value of not showing weakness.  
  
“You getting better,” he said.  
  
Grimlock often affected an odd mix of Dinobot dialect and proper Cybertronian when he spoke to his fellow Dinobots.  
  
“Maybe someday you'll even be strong enough to beat me,” Grimlock added, though it was with a dark chuckle. “Then you can make rules.”  
  
“Me Snarl will get stronger.” Snarl glared at his leader. “You Grimlock wait and see.”  
  
Grimlock stepped over him and dusted off his hands. “You rest. Then I'll let you try again.” He looked up then and noticed Starscream. His armor fluffed out, opening to ease the overheated components beneath. “Where Ratchet?”  
  
“I didn't know you wanted me to bring him.” Starscream pushed off the door frame and stepped further into the room.  
  
Brawl and Slag were still throwing each other around as though they had nothing better to do. Starscream doubted they noticed him. But Thundercracker and Swoop had looked up. Thundercracker's face gave nothing away, but Starscream knew his trinemate too well.  
  
So much for he and Skywarp thinking Swoop an annoyance. Clearly, something had changed.  
  
“Besides,” Starscream continued as he shifted his attention back to Grimlock, “he was pretty keen on getting out of New Iacon as fast as possible. And so were his guards.”  
  
Grimlock barked a laugh. “Prime sent him with guards? He's lucky we didn't take that as an insult.”  
  
Starscream smirked and crossed his arms over his cockpit. “To be fair, he sent two mechs I didn't recognize. Ultra Magnus' crew, I think. Nobody who could have posed a threat.”  
  
Grimlock made a noncommittal noise, his helm tilted as though he were considering the new information. He often did that. Starscream could see why others would think he was slow, dull-witted even. What they didn't realize was how deeply Grimlock thought, or how he carefully considered all the angles.  
  
He was scarily intelligent.  
  
“Prime has his own issues right now,” Grimlock finally said. “We can ignore a faux pas. Soundwave needs to make sure he doesn't do the same to Metalhawk.”  
  
Metalhawk chomped at the bit for the smallest thing to use against either faction. He would pounce at anything to take it as an insult. For a mech so vocal about hating war and conflict, he sure seemed determined to start one.  
  
Starscream frowned. He really did not like that mech.  
  
“But you didn't find me to talk about Prime,” Grimlock said. “What urgent matter needs my attention?”  
  
Starscream cut him a sideways look. “Well,” he drawled. “I'd hate to break up the family meeting. I can always find something better to do if you're busy.”  
  
Grimlock stepped closer, his field pulsing against Starscream's in a heavy slide of heat that tasted ever so faintly of lust. “Is that a subtle request to take this somewhere private?”  
  
A shiver danced down Starscream's backstrut at the sound of Grimlock's rolling purr. He remembered all too well those powerful hands gripping him, hard enough to hurt but leaving only pleasure behind. His wings twitched.  
  
“We have work to do,” Starscream snapped. Or he attempted to. But at best it came out a stern reminder.  
  
Grimlock's visor darkened. “Yes, we do.” He half-turned toward the others, all of whom were watching their interaction now. Even Brawl and Slag.  
  
“Keep practicing,” Grimlock ordered. “Slag, you're on duty in two hours. Swoop, you go to medcenter for checkup and Snarl, you take him.”  
  
“Whatever you Grimlock say,” Snarl said as Slag nodded in agreement.  
  
“Yes, Grimlock,” Swoop replied, though he ducked his helm. His plating remained clamped tight to his frame.  
  
Starscream loathed Shockwave all over again. Perhaps he should revisit Shockwave and see if he could get some answers regarding Swoop. Grimlock hadn't asked questions, mostly because he swore if he saw Shockwave, he would kill him. He didn't want Shockwave's help either. But Starscream had no such compunctions.  
  
“There,” Grimlock said. “Now we work.”  
  
“So glad I could finally have your attention,” Starscream drawled.  
  
Grimlock's field pushed at his, ripe with amusement. “I am more than the Decepticon leader,” he said. “It's what makes me better than Megatron.”  
  
“It's not the only thing,” Starscream replied before he cycled his optics, realizing he'd spoken before thinking. Not that it wasn't true, but that he was normally more guarded than this.  
  
“That almost sounded like approval,” Grimlock said.  
  
Starscream hurried ahead of him, leaving the training room behind and feeling Thundercracker watching him every step of the way. “It certainly wasn't a criticism.”  
  
Grimlock laughed. “To each his own. Now what terribly important piece of politics needs our attention now?” His tone was amused, but his field spoke of nothing but business.  
  
“Overlord. Black Shadow. Sixshot.” Starscream ticked off each designation one by one. “Knock Out's requested that we decide what to do with them.”  
  
“Hm.”  
  
They left Grimlock's apartment building and headed for the medcenter that Knock Out had made for his own. They had moved most of the equipment out of the one the Constructicons had used. Knock Out had claimed an entire building, though at the moment he was only making use of two floors. One was the medcenter, another was his private living quarters.  
  
“Anything else?”  
  
Starscream rolled his optics. “The problems are endless. We can't construct fast enough to provide adequate, suitable housing for all of our Decepticons. We're still rooting out those who are loyal to Megatron, an issue hampered by the fact our best spy went and joined the Autobots. On top of that, communications are also spotty due to, you guessed it, Soundwave jumping ship.”  
  
“You didn't see it coming?”  
  
Starscream cycled a ventilation. “If you asked someone who the most loyal Decepticon was, they probably would have pointed at Soundwave. No, I didn't see it coming.”  
  
Grimlock tilted his helm, giving him a curious look. “Except for the part where he helped you take down Megatron.”  
  
“That's different.”  
  
“Is it?”  
  
Starscream frowned and they paused outside of the medcenter, a building in a curious state of half-repair and half-dilapidation. “Being loyal to Megatron and being loyal to the Decepticons aren't the same thing. Otherwise I would have left long ago.”  
  
“To join the Autobots?”  
  
Starscream snorted. “Perish the thought. I'm a lot of things, but Autobot isn't one of them.” His wings flicked and he pushed open the door to the medcenter. “Are you coming or not?”  
  
Grimlock, amusingly, hesitated. “Knock Out is the best medic we have?”  
  
“Unless you want to give the Constructicons both free rein and a command position. Though I can't see the Autobots or Ratchet taking that with a smile,” Starscream said. He held the door open, waiting.  
  
“They are lucky we're in need of their skills,” Grimlock said with a grunt. He entered the medcenter ahead of Starscream.  
  
“A lot of our prisoners are lucky for that reason,” Starscream agreed as he followed Grimlock inside.  
  
Knock Out's medcenter was on the first floor, which made it easier for the injured to get to him. He saw a steady stream of minor injuries and maintenance. He employed a few part-time medics, namely those who were decent field medics or half-sparked engineers. But for the most part, the medcenter was his domain.  
  
He had no patients at the moment, save the ones Grimlock and Starscream had come to see. Starscream was not at all surprised to find Knock Out muttering over a datapad as he paced back and forth in the receiving room. His crimson paint was buffed to a flawless shine and as he mumbled to himself, he ticked something off on his long, clawed fingers.  
  
The door chimed as Starscream and Grimlock stepped through it, attracting Knock Out's attention. In a flash, his expression went from irritated to smarmy.  
  
“Lord Grimlock, Commander Starscream, how good of you to finally come by,” Knock Out said with an exaggerated bow. His datapad vanished, perhaps to subspace. “After all, I've only been waiting for several cycles for you to attend to this matter.”  
  
A low rumble rose in Grimlock's engine.  
  
“Your patients were in no danger, Knock Out,” Starscream said curtly. “There were other matters of more importance than a bit of mild discomfort.”  
  
“Of course, my liege. I was only thinking of political perception.” Knock Out straightened and planted a hand on his hip. “I can think of no few Autobots who would love to sneak in here and finish them off.”  
  
Grimlock snorted. “I'm tempted to do it myself.”  
  
“And I doubt anyone would shed a tear, my lord,” Knock Out drawled. “After all, they didn't limit themselves to Autobot victims.”  
  
Grimlock's visor shifted toward Starscream in question. He cycled a ventilation and rubbed at his face.  
  
“They were Megatron's favorites,” Starscream admitted with no shortage of disgust in his tone. “He let them do what they wanted, so long as they didn't damage anyone permanently. He chose them for their viciousness. The process to turn them into Phase Sixers didn't leave much compassion behind.”  
  
Knock Out scoffed. “I doubt they had much to begin with.” He flicked a hand toward one of the back rooms. “They're in there. If you don't mind, I'll just stay out here and finish inventory. They're creepy.”  
  
“Where's Glit?” Starscream asked.  
  
“Busy.” Knock Out's datapad reappeared in his hands as he turned his backplate toward them. “Just like me since I'm now in charge of this mess thanks to you.”  
  
Responsibility had always been something Knock Out avoided. No doubt he missed all the free time he had to cruise down the empty highways at top speed.  
  
Starscream arched an orbital ridge. “You could have turned me down.”  
  
“So you could pass it on to Glit? Frag that.” Knock Out's lip curled with derision. “I'm not taking orders from a minicon.”  
  
Ah, so it came down to a sense of personal pride. Knock Out hated Glit, and vice versa.  
  
“Then maybe you'll get lucky, and there will be another medic with some new arrivals,” Starscream said.  
  
Knock Out peered at his datapad. “So long as it isn't Flatline.”  
  
Starscream smirked. “Do you get along with any of the Decepticon medics?”  
  
Knock Out's shoulder tires twitched. “I can't help that they are all jealous.”  
  
Starscream laughed and shook his helm. But Grimlock gave him an impatient look so he cut the conversation short.  
  
“As you were, doctor,” he said and joined his leader at the locked door.  
  
The lock was redundant in Starscream's opinion. All three Phase Sixers were mind-wiped. All that functioned was basic survival protocols. They consumed energon if it was handed to them. Their vents and cooling fans worked. Their systems ran. But there was no one upstairs. No personality. Their memory cores were wiped clean.  
  
Such was the contingency plan Megatron had arranged. Arrogant and brash Megatron might be, but he recognized the risk in building super soldiers who were capable of destroying him if they put their minds to it. He didn't want to kill them, but making it easier to retake control and bend their will to his? Megatron had no problems with that.  
  
Right now, the Phase Sixers were effectively blank slates. Someone like Trepan, or Metalhawk's mech, could come in and program them however they wanted.  
  
Though Starscream had to agree with Knock Out. As he and Grimlock walked into the room, three empty gazes stared back at them. Three very large, very powerful mechs sat on berths without moving. They would have been silent, if not for the ambient noise of a frame ventilating.  
  
They were fragging creepy.  
  
Grimlock paced around the room, examining each mech in turn. They were all undamaged. A single individualized phrase made them drop in place without need for an extensive fight.  
  
“What are our options?” Grimlock asked.  
  
Starscream leaned a hip against a table. “We could always open their chestplates and shoot their sparks. After we take them far away, of course. These sparks tend to go boom.”  
  
“Is that our only option?”  
  
“You really want to keep them alive?” Starscream arched an orbital ridge. “You're not that much of an Autobot.”  
  
Grimlock barked a laugh. “I was thinking of the future.”  
  
“Do you know something I don't?”  
  
“I know that we're vulnerable right now.” Grimlock paused in front of Sixshot, looking the six-changer up and down. “I know that we don't have the protection of the Galactic Council. I know that we've made a lot of enemies. And I know that our population is so small that it's not a simple fraction of what it used to be.” He turned away from Sixshot and glanced at Starscream. “I also know just how valuable Earth is, not just for us, and how barely guarded it is.”  
  
Starscream inclined his helm. “You're thinking of a back-up plan. A contingency in case we come up against an enemy and we find ourselves outclassed.”  
  
“I'm thinking that I'm reluctant to throw away something that could be of use, no matter how abhorrent I find it,” Grimlock said. His visor darkened.  
  
“That's hardly ethical.”  
  
Grimlock tilted his helm. “As you said, I'm not that much of an Autobot. If we lived in a perfect world, maybe I'd be more like Optimus. But right now, I can't afford that.”  
  
Starscream crossed his arms. “They still have their spark memories. Spark traits. No matter how much re-programming we do, some of their behavior is inevitable.”  
  
“Then we keep the kill codes.” Grimlock paused in front of Black Shadow, the massive Phase Sixer easily half again his mass and height. “We've got time. We can figure out a better method to control them.”  
  
Starscream drummed his fingers on his forearm, contemplating. “You thinking cold storage?” He tried not to shudder and failed.  
  
Cold storage aka separating the spark from the frame. It was a punishment in itself. Who's to say that the three wouldn't come out more psychotic than when they went in? They could be building something worse than a monster.  
  
“Is it better or worse than a closet?” Grimlock asked, but there was something in his tone that suggested the question was rhetorical. “What's more ethical? Because I'm not restoring their memories and giving them free rein. So either I kill them, or I find a way to make use of them.”  
  
Starscream lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “You want ethical, you ask Optimus Prime. I'm only interested in protecting Cybertron and getting our species back to where we need to be. If it means using those three as pawns, then so be it.”  
  
Grimlock turned away from the Phase Sixers and came closer to Starscream. Close enough that their fields intersected and Starscream could feel the heat of him. Grimlock always seemed to run about ten degrees hotter than the average.  
  
Starscream looked up at him, certain Grimlock wasn't trying to intimidate. Like Megatron, Grimlock was perfectly aware of his own size and power. But he didn't use it to loom. Grimlock didn't need to show he was superior. He already knew it.  
  
“I don't want to ask Optimus Prime,” Grimlock said and this time his vocals were near a purr. He leaned closer, his hand curling around Starscream's chin in a hold that was almost gentle. “I'm asking you, my second and my Air Commander. What do you think is the better course?”  
  
Starscream's vents hitched. “Politically, we might catch some flak,” he said, his gaze holding Grimlock's. “Metalhawk will vote for execution. I don't know about Optimus. He's a lot more ruthless than he used to be.” His intake bobbed as Grimlock's thumb stroked over his bottom lip. The Dinobot leader made a humming noise, indicating he should continue. “But I'd also hate to be rid of an asset. We just need to be smart about it. Find a way to control them before we even think about releasing them.”  
  
“I agree.” Grimlock's field stroked along his, thick with approval and arousal both. “Does that mean we're done with our work here?”  
  
Really? Two could place this game.  
  
Starscream flicked out his glossa, tasting the tip of Grimlock's thumb. “Why? Did you have something else in mind?”  
  
Rumbling amusement echoed through Grimlock's chassis. “Another opportunity to get my hands on your wings, as a matter of fact.”  
  
Starscream shivered. He sucked Grimlock's thumb into his mouth, denta nipping at the tip of it.  
  
“I think that can be arranged.”  
  
Mutually beneficial agreements indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Backfire," Egypt Central

No one gave him a second look as he strode into Iacon. For all that Soundwave had become an Autobot, he was still a familiar Decepticon. Or perhaps it was that no one was brave enough to challenge him.  
  
Starscream watched Soundwave's approach with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. He had never been able to read Soundwave before, and even in times of peace, Soundwave was difficult to comprehend. Starscream didn't understand what Soundwave was after, which made him difficult to predict. Starscream did not like unknowns.  
  
“Well, well, well,” Starscream said. He stepped down the stairs, and raised his orbital ridges. “The prodigal son returns. To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence today, Soundwave?” He smiled sweetly and tilted his helm.  
  
Soundwave's mask and visor made his expression unreadable. And like always, he might as well be offline for all of his field Starscream could sense. He'd earned his reputation for being an emotionless slagger.  
  
Except as of late, where he was sticking to Optimus Prime like glue. Curious.  
  
“Discussion intended,” Soundwave said. “Multiple topics of concern.”  
  
Starscream descended until he stood right in front of Soundwave. They were of a height, though Soundwave had more mass to him. Starscream knew Soundwave had to touch someone for his little mind trick. He had never been afraid of Soundwave before, he wasn't about to start now.  
  
“Is this visit sanctioned?” he asked as he circled Soundwave, wondering if the other mech would detect a subtle scan or two. “Does your Prime know you're here?”  
  
“Autonomy allowed,” Soundwave replied, his frame relaxed. He didn't even turn to follow Starscream. He didn't fear reprisal at all.  
  
Interesting.  
  
“So he does know,” Starscream said.  
  
“Possibility exists.” Soundwave inclined his helm as Starscream paused in front of him again. “Optimus Prime trusts.”  
  
“You?” Starscream snorted and almost laughed. “How did you manage that? I didn't realize you two were that close. You certainly have a type, Soundwave.” Not that Starscream had any room to talk.  
  
The other mech's field briefly spiked before Soundwave reined it in. His visor dimmed as his plating drew in tight.  
  
“Starscream's relationship with Decepticon Lord also typical, yes?”  
  
Starscream's wings twitched before he could stop them. “I see your little spies still get around as well as they used to.” He whirled on a heelstrut. “How long have you had my apartment bugged?”  
  
“Unnecessary. Starscream's type also obvious.”  
  
His lips twisted in a snarl, and he threw a glare over his shoulder, not that it fazed Soundwave. That had always irked Starscream. Nothing ever seemed to shatter the quiet mech's cool. Then again, _he_ never failed Megatron. _He_ was the favorite.  
  
Then again, there at the end, everyone had been a failure to Megatron. He’d handed out beatings left and right. No one was safe. Everyone was a traitor.  
  
He was right, of course, but Megatron didn’t know for sure. Though Starscream had no doubt Megatron realized it by the end. His own Decepticons had turned against him.  
  
_Soundwave_ had turned against him.  
  
That must have stung. It must have hurt.  
  
_Good_.  
  
“I didn't think you'd stoop so low as to throw insults, Soundwave.” Starscream stalked up the ramp toward Decepticon headquarters. Like frag he would let Soundwave wander around alone. Besides, Grimlock probably wanted to be in on this, too.  
  
Grimlock was far more hands on in Decepticon politics than Megatron had ever been. To be fair, Megatron was interested. He liked to know who to blame for failure. But everything leading up to failure or success? He kept his hands out of it, until it came time to claim credit or mete punishment.  
  
Except Starscream pinged Grimlock and got a succinct “Busy” in reply so it looked like he was on his own. No worries.  
  
“No insult intended. Only observation,” Soundwave replied, still in that irritating monotone. “Grimlock better choice.”  
  
“Funny you should say that. I thought Megatron was your lord and master.”  
  
“Negative.”  
  
The main doors to the command center opened ahead of them. Starscream turned to look at Soundwave.  
  
“This coming from the mech known for his loyalty. What changed, Soundwave?” He didn’t expect an answer. Soundwave never let anything slip. He was a mech of few words, and no intimacies.  
  
“Megatron changed,” Soundwave replied, which yes, was all Starscream expected to get from him.  
  
It was yet another reason he and Soundwave had never been friendly. Starscream had enough political machinations to worry about without trying to interpret Soundwave's deliberately vague manner of speech.  
  
“And Optimus is better,” Starscream assumed as he hung a left and led Soundwave not toward the command center or a conference room, but to a refueling station.  
  
The Decepticons had nothing to hide. That didn't mean Starscream wanted Soundwave anywhere near central command. They weren't that friendly. He didn't think Soundwave was spying. No. Rephrase. He knew Soundwave was spying, but he didn't think it was with malicious intent. Not only was that not Optimus Prime's style, but Soundwave never poked his olfactory sensor where it didn't belong for his own purposes.  
  
He was stupidly honorable like that.  
  
“Yes,” Soundwave said and unsurprisingly, didn’t elaborate.  
  
Starscream supposed a blunt answer was better than an evasion. He hung a left into the nearest refueling station, abandoned as it was mid-shift, and waved Soundwave toward a table. He retrieved two cubes of mid-grade and joined Soundwave who had chosen a table that gave both of them a clear view of the room, and put their backplates to the wall.  
  
Old habits died hard.  
  
“But you didn't come here to talk about our respective relationships, did you?” Starscream plopped down on a stool and shoved a cube toward the quiet mech.  
  
Soundwave accepted it and gave Starscream a long look before his mask split down the middle. Starscream took it for a show of trust. Soundwave rarely refuelled through his mouth, and never in public.  
  
He was an attractive mech underneath, Starscream mused. He had a few protoform deep marks around his mouth, cuts that suggested repeated damage gone unrepaired for so long the nanites were no longer capable of recognizing it as damage. In other words, what the humans could call a scar. They didn't detract from his appearance, however.  
  
“Negative,” Soundwave said after another sip. He rested one hand on the energon cube as his visor shifted Starscream's direction. “Topic of discussion: Metalhawk.”  
  
Starscream leaned back on his stool, making himself comfortable. This was a topic that he had grown to loathe. “I'm listening.”  
  
Soundwave inclined his helm. “Metalhawk unexpectedly amenable and quiet. Suspect conflicting motivations. Summary: scheme intended.”  
  
Starscream tilted his helm. “That much is obvious. Do you have any proof?”  
  
Soundwave audibly cycled a ventilation. “Surveillance suggests dissatisfaction. Wants Autobots and Decepticons gone.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“Method undecided.”  
  
Starscream snorted a laugh. “He knows he's outclassed and outnumbered. Even if he waits for the reinforcements, it'll be too late. So he's got to come up with something before our scattered troops start answering the calls.” He sipped at his energon, the mildly sweet flavor a delicious treat. “Who do you have watching him?”  
  
“Buzzsaw.”  
  
“Not Laserbeak?”  
  
Soundwave shook his helm. “Preference: Optimus Prime.”  
  
Starscream's orbital ridges tried to crawl under his forehelm. “You're keeping tabs on the mech you've sworn allegiance to? My don't you live dangerously. I thought you trusted the Prime?”  
  
“Negative.” Soundwave's visor flashed, and his carefully controlled energy field flicked through the room with denial. “Surveillance not intended. Only concern.”  
  
“You think Metalhawk would attack him? Or that one of my Decepticons would?” Starscream snorted as his wings flicked. “No one on this planet is that foolish.”  
  
“Negative.” Soundwave shifted, and if Starscream had to guess, there was embarrassment in the fidgeting. “Concern for health.”  
  
Starscream cycled his optics. He sat up straight and stared at Soundwave. “You're actually serious about him. When did that happen?”  
  
“Private matters unrelated to Starscream,” Soundwave replied in a clipped tone before his battle mask snapped back shut. His capped his half-finished cube of energon and set it to the side. “Previous topic preferred.”  
  
“All right. Whatever you say.” Starscream held up his hands.  
  
The old Starscream would have pursued it, perhaps to Soundwave's humiliation and Starscream's own self-satisfaction. But they were no longer second and third in command to Megatron. Starscream no longer had to vie for Megatron's approval. There was no need to undercut Soundwave.  
  
Perhaps, in the future, they might even become friends.  
  
“What has Buzzsaw discovered then?” Starscream asked with a flick of his fingers.  
  
“Neutrals presently incapable of mounting an offensive.” Soundwave visibly relaxed as the tight clamp of his armor loosened. “Or defending themselves. Autobots and Decepticons have advantage.”  
  
“Well, that's a relief.” Starscream tapped his chin. “Suggestions for a plan of action?”  
  
“Watch. Wait. Prepare.”  
  
Oh, Soundwave. Ever cautious.  
  
Starscream frowned. He hated that the entirety of the Decepticon special ops division was unavailable. Soundwave and his little imps defected. Vortex had gone Neutral with the rest of his team. And Barricade was in the brig, where he would stay if Starscream had anything to say about it. That mech could not be trusted.  
  
“I trust you'll keep us in the loop?” Starscream asked. “After all, you took our entire intelligence division with you.”  
  
Soundwave's visor flashed, and though Starscream couldn't see his face, he got the distinct impression Soundwave was smirking at him. “Cooperation beneficial.”  
  
“So it would seem,” Starscream mused aloud. “You mentioned multiple topics. What were the others?”  
  
“Current Decepticon prisoners,” Soundwave said with no hesitation. “Intent to release?”  
  
Starscream raised his orbital ridges. “You'll have to be more specific. Is there someone in particular you are concerned about?”  
  
“Overlord,” Soundwave replied. “Blackshadow. Sixshot. Motormaster.”  
  
Interesting. All of the Phase Sixers and two of whom had been responsible for violations upon Optimus Prime. Was Soundwave's attraction to and defense of Optimus Prime a new occurrence, or had it been beneath the surface throughout the entirety of the war?  
  
Starscream pressed his fingertips together and crossed one leg over the other. It couldn't hurt to share a little information. “The Sixers are going into cold storage for when we need them. Motormaster is not eligible for parole at this moment. He is too loyal to Megatron.”  
  
Some of the tension visibly drained from Soundwave's frame. “Potential for release in future?”  
  
“Maybe,” Starscream hedged.  
  
Motormaster, after all, was a Decepticon despite the despicable things he had done. Starscream had a responsibility toward him. His fellow Stunticons – Breakdown and Drag Strip – were more likely to be released before Motormaster.  
  
Breakdown had expressed an interest in medical engineering, which Starscream suspected had more to do with their CMO than an actual interest in fixing the injured. Rumor had it, also, that Breakdown had been the subject of ridicule amongst his brothers because he did not take part in the rape and degradation of their Autobot pets. Therefore, he was high on Starscream's parole list.  
  
He was still investigating Drag Strip. The mech was loud and obnoxious and selfish, but he didn't have any loyalties to Megatron, and he didn't seem all that loyal to Motormaster either. If he could be taught, he might be useful.  
  
“That depends on his behavior,” Starscream continued. “But it will be no time soon. There are larger concerns.” He rapped his fingers on the desktop. “Speaking of unrepentant prisoners, what of the red minibot?”  
  
Soundwave cycled a ventilation. “Medical care needed. No possibility of parole at this moment. Potential to re-offend too great.”  
  
“A pity,” Starscream mused.  
  
Frankly, he thought there were a few more Decepticons who could do with some of Cliffjumper's justice, but that wasn't what he could say aloud. He only pushed for the minibot's punishment for political reasons.  
  
“Any other concerns you wanted to address, or do you want to save those for our weekly meetings?”  
  
“Nothing of immediate consequence,” Soundwave said. He pushed to his pedes, tilting his helm in a show of deference. “Discussion appreciated.”  
  
Starscream's lips twisted toward a smirk. “Working with the Prime has made you more polite,” he commented with a sidelong glance.  
  
Soundwave's visor darkened. “Competition no longer needed,” he replied. “Would prefer friendship now, if possible.”  
  
“I think I can oblige.” Starscream managed a genuine smile. “I think I like this version of you, Soundwave. I'm sure Optimus Prime does, too.”  
  
Soundwave tilted his helm, a flush of amusement dancing in his field. “Lord Grimlock reciprocates, yes?”  
  
Shots fired. Starscream didn't bother to duck. He suspected the tete-a-tete would become a key part of his and Soundwave's relationship.  
  
“We'll see,” Starscream said. “Go. I'm sure you have as much work to do as I do. Feel free to visit again.”  
  
“Noted.” Soundwave left, no sappy goodbyes from him. Not that Starscream could have expected any different.  
  
He chuckled and shook his helm.  
  
Would wonders never cease?  
  


~

  
  
Cybertronians didn't yawn to express their fatigue, but at the moment, Starscream wished he could. He felt it tug at every cable, every strut, every line. His wings drooped. His neck column was stiff. He was starting to limp because of that damn knee.  
  
Hmm. Maybe he should take the recent truce as an opportunity to have Ratchet look at his knee. He could call it fostering good relations.  
  
Starscream snorted. Good relations. Like the fact he was second-in-command and also sexually involved with a mech who Ratchet and his explosive engineer of a conjunx considered their child. That was going to go over well.  
  
Starscream tucked his datapad under his arm and rubbed his face with his free hand. Complicated, thy visage is Starscream, he thought. He always did seem to choose the path of most resistance. Why couldn't he allow anything to be easy?  
  
He glanced back down at his datapad before subspacing it. No more work today. He intended to go to berth, collapse in it, and recharge until he had to rise early to do it all over again.  
  
Why was peace so much more complicated than war?  
  
Starscream flicked his code into the panel outside his private hab – being second in command had to have some perks – and strode into his suite. He briefly thought about claiming some energon from the dispenser, but he wasn't that low. He headed toward the berth room instead only to slam to a halt.  
  
His berth was occupied, and not by any of his trine-mates like he would have expected. Skywarp had a habit of warping around to surprise Starscream as some sort of unfunny joke. Thundercracker occasionally invited himself inside if he had something serious to discuss.  
  
This time, however, his berth was occupied by none other than Grimlock, the Dinobot looking quite comfortable as he propped himself up with several pillows. He was focused on the datapad in his hands, one that looked tiny in comparison, but he looked up as Starscream darkened his own doorway.  
  
“You're late,” he said.  
  
“I'm right on time considering this is my berthroom, and I didn't have anything scheduled,” Starscream retorted as he stormed further into his room. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Grimlock flicked the datapad off, and it vanished into his subspace. “Waiting for you?”  
  
“What? Couldn't sleep without a mech to cuddle?”  
  
Grimlock's helm tilted. “Something like that.” He sat up on the berth and patted his lap. “Care to join me?”  
  
Starscream snorted and folded his arms across his cockpit. “It's my berth,” he pointed out as he cocked a hip to the side.  
  
“Thus the invitation,” Grimlock replied, and this time, it was better a purr. A dark sound that rolled right down Starscream's backstrut.  
  
He fought back the shiver, but couldn't stop his wings from twitching, betraying his interest. Soundwave's words hovered at the back of his processor. Yes, he had a type, Starscream acknowledged. Power and confidence and competence, Grimlock had all of it. But more than that, he appreciated Starscream.  
  
That was a heavy intoxicant indeed.  
  
“Or I could leave,” Grimlock said.  
  
Starscream rolled his optics. “I didn't say that,” he said and unfolded his arms, crossing the berth room in a few quick strides. “You must delight in confusing me, Dinobot.”  
  
“It's only confusing because you're not used to it.” Grimlock snagged Starscream's nearest hand, drawing it closer to his masked mouth.  
  
He rubbed his mask against the back of Starscream's knuckles, his visor taking on a glow of arousal that Starscream had come to recognize. His field reached out, tapping against Starscream's in soft request.  
  
Ever since that first conversation, Grimlock always asked. He never assumed. He was as different from Megatron as night and day, as Autobot and Decepticon, as Seeker and Dinobot.  
  
So yes, Soundwave, maybe Starscream did have a type.  
  
Grimlock was all the best parts of it.  
  
Starscream let Grimlock pull him closer and let the Dinobot's arm circle around him. Grimlock's fingers pressed against his back, just below his wing hinges. A purr rumbled through Grimlock’s chassis as he rubbed his battlemask against Starscream's hand again.  
  
“Suppose I can convince you to come to berth now?” Grimlock asked.  
  
“Idiot,” Starscream grumbled, refusing to admit that his ventilations hitched. “I'm here, aren't I?”  
  
“Well. It is your berth.” Grimlock chuckled and slid his hand up higher, fingers teasing Starscream's hinges. “Join me on it. I've a need to see you overload on top of me.”  
  
“You just want to be able to watch my wings,” Starscream retorted with a roll of his optics, but he watched Grimlock scoot back and make room for him.  
  
Starscream climbed after him. He perched on Grimlock's hips, knees digging into the plush berth. Grimlock's panel was already hot to the touch, his field heavy with electro-static need. How long had he sat here, waiting on Starscream and thinking about him?  
  
It was a pretty heady feeling. Like power.  
  
Grimlock's hands rested on his hips, thumbs sweeping inward, brushing the furthest edge of Starscream's panel. He refused to show the jolt it sent through his lines. His valve clenched, lubricant gathering along the protomesh walls.  
  
“There is that,” Grimlock said. He rocked his hips upward, making Starscream rise and fall in his perch. “Are you objecting?”  
  
Starscream braced his hands on Grimlock's abdominal plate. “Not at all,” he purred, and ground down, their panels sliding together with a burr of metal on metal. “You came in here and waited for me. It would be rude to ignore that.”  
  
“Since when have you cared about whether or not you were rude?” Grimlock asked, but his field was heavy with affection as it rolled against Starscream's own, almost as tangible as a caress.  
  
Starscream tilted his helm to the side, lifting his orbital ridges. “Since when have you known me so well?”  
  
“Dinobots observe.” Grimlock’s thumbs stroked harder at Starscream's panel. “Easy to do when everyone assumes you're stupid. Noticed a lot of things others didn't. Noticed that there was a lot more to you than Megatron allowed.”  
  
If Starscream were anyone else, his faceplate might have heated at that.  
  
“Yeah, that was obvious.” He leaned forward Grimlock, his glossa flicking over his lips. “How long have you been watching me, my lord?”  
  
Grimlock's plating twitched beneath him, heat surging up from under his armor. Arousal thickened in his energy field until Starscream could almost taste it.  
  
Hm. Liked that, did he?  
  
“Long enough,” Grimlock said. His hands slid up, gliding along Starscream's sides and along his chassis before stroking back down again. “You are beautiful.”  
  
Starscream startled, not expecting the blatant admission. Pleasure flushed through his field as his spark gave a sharp, surprised throb. He rolled his hips, planting a smirk on his face to hide his shock.  
  
“Well, of course,” he purred. “I am a Seeker. We are lords of the skies.” He raised his arms, draping them around Grimlock's neck. He rolled his frame forward again, Grimlock growing hotter and hotter beneath him.  
  
Fingers pressed in on his spinal strut. “You dance in the sky,” Grimlock said as his panel opened, and his spike extended. It rubbed along Starscream's valve panel in quiet request for entrance. “You fly with joy. When the sun catches your wings, you glow.”  
  
Starscream's spark did that odd stutter again. He licked his lips. “You have been watching,” he purred with what he hoped was vain pride and not the sheer flattery he felt. “I didn't know a Dinobot could be so poetic.”  
  
Grimlock's visor flashed with heat. “There are a lot of things you don't know about me.” His vocals rolled like rich, sweet energon. “Open for me?”  
  
“Well.” Starscream smirked and let his fingers toy with the cables at the back of Grimlock's neck, just below the protection of his helm. “Since you asked so sweetly...”  
  
He triggered his panel to open and a shiver danced up his backstrut as the blunt head of Grimlock's spike rubbed over his rim. He was already wet, but even so, Grimlock would be a tight fit. His calipers would struggle to cycle open, struggle to take Grimlock's girth. It was a heady sensation Starscream quickly began to crave, especially since Grimlock was always so careful with him.  
  
Care was still something new to Starscream. He never knew it could be so addictive.  
  
Starscream rolled his hips, teasing himself for several long moments. Grimlock's spike rubbed over his pleats, over his rim, and against his nub. His node throbbed with interest and he felt lubricant seep from his valve, dripping down on Grimlock's spike.  
  
“Should I ask permission?” Grimlock purred as his hands swept up and down Starscream's sides, each sweep of his palm causing a tingle of charge to dance over Starscream's plating. “Or do you want me to beg?”  
  
Starscream grinned. “I do like the sound of you begging.” He rolled his hips, caught the head of Grimlock's spike against his opening, and let the first inch slide inside. “But maybe not this time.”  
  
He both felt and heard Grimlock's ventilations catch. He felt the flex of Grimlock's fingers on his hips and the shudder that rippled over Grimlock's plating.  
  
Starscream's calipers twitched, catching at the head of Grimlock's spike as though trying to drag him deeper. So Starscream obliged, shivering as he sank down, inch by precious inch, his valve cycling open, stretching around Grimlock's girth until he was fully seated.  
  
A low moan rose in his chassis. His backstrut arched, wings first going rigid, then shivering with delight. Starscream's optics dimmed as he allowed himself to luxuriate in nothing but the sheer sensation. No pain to be so full, he realized. Such a novel concept.  
  
Grimlock's thumbs swept inward and a bolt of pleasure rocked through Starscream's frame as the tip of one circled his anterior node. He moaned, hips working Grimlock's spike and calipers rippling around it. Lubricant seeped out, soaking the space between them.  
  
Starscream's hand slid to Grimlock's shoulders, his fingers slipping into transformation seams to stroke at the cables beneath. “You're going to make me overload if you keep that up,” he said.  
  
Grimlock pressed a little harder and Starscream's hips jerked. His node throbbed as lightning stripped his lines.  
  
“Or maybe that's what you want,” Starscream moaned. His hips moved in small circles while Grimlock stayed still beneath him. His spike throbbed and ground against Starscream's ceiling node.  
  
“It might be.” Now Grimlock sounded coy, though his cooling fans had clicked on with a telling whirr and heat blasted out from beneath his plating. “It also depends on how adventurous you are.”  
  
Starscream was intrigued. He forced himself to still, no matter how much his valve eagerly clutched at Grimlock's spike. His own throbbed to be released.  
  
“What do you have in mind?” he asked as he leaned forward, his cockpit brushing Grimlock's chestplate. He could feel the strong vibrations of Grimlock's spark beneath.  
  
Grimlock’s thumb continued the soft, steady strokes on his nub, forcing Starscream's hips back into incremental motion. His other hand cupped Starscream's aft. Grimlock's field thickened with arousal, betraying his need.  
  
“Something I'd like to try, if you're not opposed,” Grimlock said as he rolled his hips upward, his spikehead tapping on Starscream’s ceiling node. “My spike is… different.”  
  
“On purpose?”  
  
Grimlock chuckled and rocked again, sending another sharp thrill of pleasure through Starscream's lines. “Yes and no. Wheeljack took the request for modeling our frame after organic designs a little too literally.”  
  
Starscream blinked. “I haven't noticed anything different,” he said and then grinned. “And believe me, I've looked.”  
  
“It's manually activated,” Grimlock said. He kneaded at Starscream's aft, his grip firm, and yet gentle. He was a master of his own strength.  
  
Charge licked between their interfacing systems, their cooling fans almost whirring in sync. Arousal throbbed between them, and another sharp burst of it made Starscream clench down and shiver.  
  
“But I'm told it's a Pit of a ride,” Grimlock purred. His thumb ground against Starscream's anterior node.  
  
Starscream's backstrut arched as he hissed air through his vents. Pleasure rocked through him, valve rippling in the precursors of overload, but not quite there. His hands clawed at Grimlock's shoulders.  
  
“No pain,” he gasped out.  
  
“Never.” Grimlock’s thumb gentled on Starscream's nub, keeping the pleasure to a soft caress that nearly drew a whimper from Starscream.  
  
“Just think about it,” he said and bent forward, rubbing his face mask against the sensitive dermal metal of Starscream's intake.  
  
Starscream shivered. His wings flicked. He pulled Grimlock closer, grinding down and up all at once. More charge rattled through his array. His plating flared to release excess heat as Grimlock's thumb flicked over his node twice in succession.  
  
Starscream clutched at Grimlock as he overloaded, clamping down hard on the Dinobot's spike. He panted as pleasure stripped his frame raw, and his field flared out of his control. He couldn't stop the helpless whines eking from his vocalizer.  
  
He sagged on top of Grimlock; lingering bursts of pleasure making him twitch. Grimlock pulsed within him and gentled his touches on Starscream's nub to feathery flicks, drawing out the pleasure.  
  
Starscream sucked in huge bursts of air, his cooling fans whirring. His face flushed with heat. His wings sank against his backplate.  
  
“Beautiful,” Grimlock murmured as he cupped Starscream's hips before sweeping his hands up Starscream's back. His thumbs toyed with the hinges of Starscream's wings, and a jolt of ecstasy shot straight to Starscream's valve. “Go again?”  
  
“I'm not done yet,” Starscream rasped as he snatched at Grimlock's wrists and pulled them away. Grimlock allowed it, he had to, because Starscream could never physically overpower him otherwise. “It's my turn now.”  
  
Grimlock inclined his helm. “I'm at your disposal, my Air Commander.”  
  
A thrill danced down Starscream's spinal strut and throbbed through his spark, as it did every time Grimlock reminded him of his position. It was an acknowledgment of his skill and worth, and it left him putty every time. Starscream's engine purred, and he tilted forward, forcing Grimlock backward.  
  
The Dinobot's back hit the berth, his knees rising as his pedes braced on the berth. The motion jostled his spike in Starscream's valve, the throbbing unit skittering charge against Starscream's reawakening nodes.  
  
Starscream settled more firmly on Grimlock, shivering as the thick spike re-situated itself. “You're going to let me lead?” he asked as he dragged his hands from Grimlock's wrists to his hands, tangling their fingers together.  
  
Grimlock could easily rise up and toss Starscream off. He was taller and heavier than Starscream. But instead, he twitched to get more comfortable, and his visor darkened with lust. He didn't appear at all bothered that Starscream had wrested control from him.  
  
“Why wouldn't I?” Grimlock asked as though there was no need for concern. His engine rumbled, vibrating the berth.  
  
Primus. How did he always know the perfect thing to say?  
  
Starscream gnawed on his bottom lip, his ventilations hitching. He circled his hips and squeezed down on Grimlock's spike. His thighs trembled. His entire frame still hummed with need, dancing on the tip of the next edge of overload.  
  
“Next time,” Starscream panted as he lifted and dropped, feeling Grimlock trembling beneath him. “You're going to show me that mod.”  
  
Grimlock's visor flared with arousal. His fingers curled around Starscream's, but not hard enough to damage. “Don't make promises you aren't going to keep, Seeker.”  
  
“Ha.” Starscream's glossa flicked over his lips as he slammed down, the clank of metal against metal an erotic chime to the rattling of the berth. “I can take anything you have to give, Dinobot.”  
  
He ground down, rubbing the head of Grimlock's spike against his ceiling node and rippling his calipers up and down the length of the thick spike. Charge danced between their respective arrays and Grimlock thrust upward with a near-roar, the hot crackle of his transfluid jetting into Starscream's valve and washing over his internal nodes.  
  
A shiver zipped down Starscream's backstrut. He tossed his helm back and followed Grimlock over, his spike leaving a strip of transfluid up Grimlock's abdomen. His cooling fans clunked in a desperate attempt to whirr away the heat building in his frame.  
  
He sagged on top of Grimlock, feeling Grimlock's fingers flex in his. Heat filled the space between and around them. And yet, despite his overload, Grimlock was still pressurized within him.  
  
Starscream twitched his hips. “You have stamina fit for a Seeker,” he commented.  
  
Grimlock chuckled. “Getting tired in your old age?”  
  
Starscream scoffed and tightened his grip on Grimlock's hands. “Try me, Dinobot.”  
  
Grimlock rolled his hips upward, stirring his spike along the sated nodes of Starscream's valve. “Challenge accepted.”  
  


~

  
  
There he was again.  
  
Cyclonus looped in the air and came back for another pass, not at all surprised that the white and blue Neutral was on the bridge, staring out at Cybertron. Every day, at the same time every cycle, Tailgate was here. Almost as if he waited on Cyclonus.  
  
Cyclonus transformed and landed, rolling his neck to ease the tension in his shoulders. He had been dealing with prisoners for the majority of the day, and that left him more than a little tense.  
  
The Decepticons were understaffed, but it looked like they would remain that way. Cyclonus could not, in good conscience, release any of the mechs who remained in the brig. It might be that Starscream's proposed solution of reprogramming was the answer, no matter how much Optimus Prime disapproved.  
  
Right now, Cybertron and peace were far more important than Autobot illusions of a perfect world.  
  
“Cyclonus!”  
  
Tailgate's visor lit up with happiness as he turned toward Cyclonus. His field freely extended, proving that he was a mech unaccustomed to war and intrigue. Most battle-hardened soldiers knew better than to leave themselves so open.  
  
Tailgate also now bore a small pistol on his right hip. Cyclonus couldn't help but wonder if he had ever used it, and who had given it to him. He had not been armed in all of their prior encounters.  
  
“It is not safe here, Tailgate,” Cyclonus said, trying to form a disapproving frown, but finding himself unable to do so. There was an unexpected warmth in his spark. Closer investigation suggested it might be… happiness.  
  
He was genuinely pleased to see Tailgate. This was unexpected.  
  
“I know,” Tailgate said and his happiness fell, the brightness of his field dimming by several degrees. “But I can't get near the citadel, and it was the only place I knew to find you.”  
  
Cyclonus' spark surged. He told the foolish thing to calm down.  
  
He knelt to be on more even ground with the minibot. “You could have commed me.”  
  
“Would you have come?”  
  
“Yes.” He gave the answer without hesitation, surprising himself, though he was quick to amend his words. “That is, so long as Metalhawk approves. He is still leery of us. I do not know that I would be welcome in Nova Cronum.”  
  
Tailgate huffed a ventilation, his fingers twisting together. “Metalhawk's so stubborn! He just doesn't want to see that there are still good mechs in the Autobots and the Decepticons. He's convinced you're all bad.”  
  
“He has good reason to think so.” Cyclonus cycled a ventilation. “I do not know how much of the war you've seen, but it has been brutal on all sides. His caution is wise.”  
  
“But he won't even talk about it!” Tailgate cried, and he sounded genuinely distressed. His visor flared. “All I wanted was permission, and he told me I had to stay in Nova Cronum.”  
  
Cyclonus cycled his optics and rose to his pedes, instantly scanning the area. He could see no sign of any other mechs, but that didn't mean there weren't any spies out there.  
  
“You came here alone? Without telling anyone?” he asked.  
  
Dear Primus, this was a crisis in the making. All they needed was for Metalhawk to screech that Decepticons were capturing poor, innocent minibot Neutrals, and there would be the Pit to pay.  
  
Tailgate looked down, tapping his fingers together. “They wouldn't have let me come if I told them.”  
  
Cyclonus cycled a ventilation and pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor. There was a reason he was third in command. He could figure out a solution to this without causing an incident. For example, returning Tailgate to Nova Cronum as soon as possible.  
  
He shifted to alt-mode and popped his cockpit. “Come on. I need to take you back.”  
  
Tailgate's helm snapped up, his visor flaring with alarm. “Do I have to? I'd rather stay here and talk with you for a while.” His field flared, a mix of disappointment and exasperation and reluctance.  
  
“Unfortunately, yes.” Cyclonus allowed the apology to extend into his field so that Tailgate could sense it. “If you'd like, I can expedite your petition for free travel to Iacon. Then Metalhawk could not protest. Though I would insist on a guard. For your own safety.”  
  
Tailgate's shoulders sagged. “I hate this stupid war,” he grumbled, but he did as Cyclonus asked, taking care as he climbed into Cyclonus' cockpit.  
  
Cyclonus appreciated how respectful he was. He didn't touch anything, took care in where he placed his pedes and hands, and made sure not to scratch or dent. Cyclonus sent the commands for the straps to keep Tailgate in place.  
  
“Peace does not come without its bumps in the road,” Cyclonus said as he lifted into the sky, aiming toward Nova Cronum. “In time, perhaps, we will all be a little less cautious and a little more open to the possibilities. Such as friendships between Neutrals and Decepticons.”  
  
Tailgate's field shone brightly. “You think of me as a friend?”  
  
“Well, I certainly don't think of you as an enemy.”  
  
Tailgate laughed, his visor a very bright blue. “That's good.”  
  
“I would, however, prefer if you used my comm in the future, Tailgate. I gave it to you for a reason.”  
  
The minibot ducked his helm. “I understand. And I will. Thank you, Cyclonus.”  
  
It was difficult to stay angry with Tailgate. Everything about his emotions were so genuine and refreshing. The irritation bled entirely from Cyclonus' spark.  
  
“You are welcome,” he replied. “Now let us get you home before there is an incident.” He turned toward Nova Cronum and popped his thrusters, jetting across the sky.  
  
As he did so, he sent a quick communique to the perimeter monitors letting them know of his approach. It was both standard procedure and polite, but the frosty reception he received was offensive.  
  
Metalhawk truly was all that was wrong with old Cybertron.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Tailgate murmured as he slumped a little. “I didn't mean to cause so much trouble.”  
  
“It's no trouble,” Cyclonus reassured him, hoping to chase away the disappointment in Taiglate's field. Something about the little mech called to a softer side of him, and Cyclonus was loath to abandon that. “I am only concerned.”  
  
Tailgate's visor lifted to his instrument panel. “I could always petition to join the Decepticons,” he suggested with a hopeful lilt.  
  
Cyclonus' flight plan wobbled. “If you no longer wish to be Neutral, that is one thing,” he said, careful to keep his tone as gentle as possible. “But I would ask that you join the Autobots instead. The Decepticons, right now regrettably, are no place for a Neutral.”  
  
He sighed as the first intact wall of Nova Cronum came into view, and behind it, the single building the small group of Neutrals had turned into a home. Metalhawk had yet to swallow his pride and ask for assistance so they currently lived in their shuttle while they repaired a single building for residence.  
  
“It was a long war, Tailgate, and those of us who survived have done so by learning to be cruel, or by starting out that way,” Cyclonus added. “I would not see the same happen to you, if there is any hope for the future of Cybertron.”  
  
He circled around the Neutrals' shuttle once, looking for the best place to land, and wasn't at all surprised to find Metalhawk waiting at the end of the ramp, his second and third to either side of him. Well, this was going to be uncomfortable and potentially infuriating.  
  
At least they had cleared the surrounding area of debris, making it easier for Cyclonus to find a place to land. He popped his cockpit and waited for Tailgate to climb out before he transformed. He turned to say something to Tailgate, who was looking up at him with a gleaming visor and tangled fingers, but Metalhawk intervened.  
  
“Tailgate!” he bellowed, storming forward with a frenetic energy to his field. “We've been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?” he demanded.  
  
Metalhawk dropped to a knee in front of Tailgate, his hands on the minibot's shoulders as he looked him up and down, like one might an errant youngling who'd been caught misbehaving. Or as though he thought Cyclonus had done something terrible.  
  
His gaze flicked toward Cyclonus with nothing short of a glare.  
  
“I went to Iacon,” Tailgate answered as he stepped out of Metalhawk's reach, his plating clamped down with discomfort. He glanced up at Cyclonus before shifting his attention back to Metalhawk. “On my own. Of my own free will. Cyclonus was kind enough to give me a ride back.”  
  
“Yes, I'm sure the Decepticon was kind,” Metalhawk said in a dark tone as rose to his full height.  
  
Tailgate's fingers twisted together.  
  
Cyclonus wondered if, cruel and dangerous or not, Iacon and the Decepticons were a better place for Tailgate. He seemed to have become some sort of pawn for Metalhawk now.  
  
“Skids, take Tailgate inside. I'm sure he is tired,” Metalhawk continued, all without taking his gaze from Cyclonus. His armor was rigid, and one hand was drawn into a fist.  
  
The once-Autobot – at least according to the briefs Jazz had sent over – inclined his helm and gestured for Tailgate to follow him. He said something Cyclonus didn't catch, and Tailgate's shoulders slumped as he followed along after. Tailgate cast a glance over his shoulder, but obeyed.  
  
“You have my comm if you need me,” Cyclonus said to Tailgate's back. He didn't expect a response, but knew Tailgate had heard him by the twitching of the minibot's tires.  
  
This left Cyclonus staring at Metalhawk and Sky-Byte both, neither of whom could be considered remotely welcoming. He folded his arms, refusing to be intimidated.  
  
“He's not a sparkling,” Cyclonus said as he lifted his orbital ridges. “Why do you treat him as such?”  
  
Metalhawk lifted his chin. “And why is it any business of yours what occurs within my faction on our own territory?”  
  
Yes. This was quickly going to become unpleasant. Cyclonus changed tactics.  
  
“If Tailgate petitions for free access to New Iacon, we are going to grant it,” Cyclonus informed them. “Fostering good relations is important to all of us. I would hope, Metalhawk, that you would not stand in his way or restrict his personal freedoms.”  
  
“He will never become a Decepticon!” Metalhawk hissed.  
  
Cyclonus inclined his helm. “Is that not his choice to make?”  
  
That settled it.  
  
If Tailgate came to New Iacon looking for asylum, Cyclonus would not deny him, no matter how loudly Starscream screeched or Metalhawk demanded his return. The choice would be Tailgate's. Cyclonus would not see him turned into a pawn.  
  
Metalhawk's optics narrowed. “Yes, it is. As it's mine to ask you to leave. Decepticons are not welcome here.”  
  
“I'll keep that in mind in the future.” Cyclonus glanced at Sky-Byte, who had added nothing to the conversation, before he shifted to alt-mode and took to the sky.  
  
He did not look at Nova Cronum as he left, but he did make a mental note of Metalhawk's behavior. He would have to discuss this with Grimlock and Starscream both, along with contacting Optimus Prime.  
  
This could be a problem in the future.  
  
A big one.  
  


****


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: "Empire of Our Own," Raign

It was a strange feeling to walk into Polyhex and be neither accepted nor rejected. No one questioned their presence, but no one saw them as Autobot either.  
  
Grimlock wore a Decepticon badge now. It was only proper since he was their leader. But he'd not required the other Dinobots to do so. Swoop still considered himself an Autobot as did Slag. Snarl had removed his badge entirely and refused to replace it with either.  
  
It didn't matter that more than a few Autobots stared. Grimlock and his Dinobot brothers weren't here to see any of them. There were only two Autobots he cared about.  
  
They walked into the Autobot Medcenter, clearing their path with ease, and looking half-like a gang about to loot the place. But all of the sensitive patients were in private rooms, and there was no one in the lobby or waiting area to act scared or horrified when four large Dinobots came striding inside.  
  
They were invited.  
  
Grimlock and his gaggle of brothers arrived outside of the room Ratchet and Wheeljack shared and pressed the keypad for entry. Behind him, Slag and Snarl started jostling each other because they couldn't go two seconds without causing chaos. Swoop, however, had a large smile on his face and a brightness in his energy field that was encouraging.  
  
This visit was two-fold for Swoop. While Grimlock believed Knock Out to be a capable medic, no one compared to his creator. He'd be much more comfortable if Ratchet looked over Swoop and gave him clearance.  
  
The door opened, Wheeljack's indicators flashing bright yellow and orange at them as he greeted them. “My boys!” he said with a joyful cry, flinging out his arms.  
  
Slag and Snarl rumbled past Grimlock and swept Wheeljack up in a hug, nearly crushing him in their enthusiasm. Wheeljack's laughter could barely be heard over the thunderous noise.  
  
Grimlock rolled his optics and urged Swoop inside so that the door could shut. A quick glance around was all he needed to see that Ratchet wasn't here.  
  
“Ratch is finishing up with a patient,” Wheeljack said once Slag set him down. He patted Slag on the shoulder, reaching up to do so. “He'll be in as soon as he's done.” He held out his arms to Swoop and the winged Dinobot came into them gladly. “I'm so glad you found the time to come see us.”  
  
“Him Grimlock always busy now,” Snarl muttered as he folded his arms. He gave Grimlock a sour look.  
  
“Well, him Grimlock is leader of the Decepticons, Snarl,” Wheeljack said as he released Swoop and patted Snarl on the nearest armor plate he could reach. “That comes with certain responsibilities. But I'm sure he'll always find time for you if you need him.”  
  
“Him Slag made new friend, too,” Snarl grumbled with a pointed glare at Slag. He inched closer to Wheeljack, almost sulking. “Me Snarl left alone.”  
  
Grimlock tilted his helm. There was more than casual complaint in Snarl's tone. It was, after all, true. Grimlock found himself increasingly busy with his responsibilities, so much so that it cut into time spent with his fellow Dinobots. Swoop spent a lot of his time with Starscream's trine, when he wasn't under observation in the medbay. Slag and Snarl were often delegated to various guard duty tasks.  
  
“New friend?” Wheeljack repeated.  
  
“Him Brawl is _just_ friend,” Slag grumbled, giving Snarl a dark look. His armor rustled, a mix of embarrassment and indignation. “And him Brawl easy to talk to. Others treat him Brawl as stupid, too. But him Brawl not.”  
  
Wheeljack cycled his optics. “You've befriended a Combaticon?” he asked, surprise thick in his tone. He shot Grimlock a quick look before returning his attention to Slag. “Well, good for you. The war's over after all.”  
  
“No one care about me Snarl,” Snarl muttered, hunching his shoulders. The two halves of his tail bracketed his faceplate.  
  
“That's cause you Snarl mean,” Slag said, giving him a push.  
  
This was all news to Grimlock. He chastised himself for not paying more attention. He'd gotten so used to his team, his brothers, having his undivided attention that he'd depended on it. But this situation was new to all of them.  
  
Wheeljack curled an arm around Snarl's waist, looking tiny next to the large mech, who immediately swept him up into another hug, burying his face against Wheeljack's chestplate. Wheeljack patted him on whatever armor plate was within reach.  
  
“I'm sorry, Snarl. But I'm sure that's not the case. You need practice is all.”  
  
Snarl's engine rumbled. “Me Snarl miss the war. War make sense. Me Snarl not know what to do now.”  
  
“You have to figure that out now that you have the chance,” Wheeljack replied. His winglets twitched.  
  
“That's what me Slag been saying.” Slag folded his arms and heaved a heavy ventilation. “Him Snarl stubborn. Won't listen.”  
  
Snarl gave Wheeljack a squeeze that made his armor creak. Fortunately, Wheeljack had always been durable and didn't let out so much as a squeak before he was lowered back to the ground.  
  
“I'll do what I can to help, I promise,” Wheeljack said as he took Snarl's hand and squeezed it. “We've got the time now. Your big brother is making sure of it.” He tossed a wink at Grimlock who chuckled.  
  
“You Snarl hog him Wheeljack!” Swoop cut in as he attached himself to Wheeljack's side in another crushing hug. “Me Swoop's turn!”  
  
“Ack!” Wheeljack laughed as Slag and Snarl jumped on the cuddle pile, and the engineer went down in a tangle of Dinobot limbs.  
  
The careful observer would notice that not a single armor panel was dented nor was Wheeljack harmed in any way. The Dinobots were not as clumsy as everyone assumed. They had learned their lesson.  
  
Grimlock watched them for several moments, amusement and affection intermingling until Wheeljack extracted himself from the pile with a laugh.  
  
“All right, all right,” he said. “I'm getting too old for this.”  
  
Grimlock scoffed. “There's nothing old about you.”  
  
“Is that any way to speak to your father?” Wheeljack teased. but it was with another wink before he turned to the other three Dinobots. “All right. I've got something for you,” he said as he pulled a few boxes from subspace.  
  
He tossed one to each in turn. Swoop admired his with care, but Slag and Snarl tore into theirs, tossing wrapping in all directions. Inside was a selection of energon goodies and some kind of handheld game. Grimlock intended to get a closer look, but that was when the door connecting the habsuite to the medbay slid open, and Ratchet stepped into view.  
  
Swoop's optics lit up. The present vanished into subspace.  
  
“Mama!” Swoop darted forward and swept Ratchet up in a hug that lifted him clear off the ground.  
  
Ratchet let out a little surprised squeak, but returned the embrace. “You haven't called me that in years, Swoop,” he said warmly as Swoop set him back down. “Come on. Let me have a look at you. How're you feeling?”  
  
“Better now,” Swoop replied, leaning into Ratchet's side. He'd always been more attached to Ratchet than Wheeljack, perhaps because medical training intrigued him once upon a time.  
  
Swoop had always been the best of them.  
  
“How's he really doin'?” Wheeljack asked as Ratchet led Swoop to a chair and made him sit.  
  
Grimlock folded his arms and cycled a ventilation. “Nightmares are easing off. He's taken to flying with Starscream's wingmates.”  
  
“Hmm.”  
  
Grimlock tilted his gaze toward Wheeljack. Was that a contemplative hum or a judging hum? Wheeljack's field was carefully blank. He was better at field concealment than most would give him credit.  
  
“We _are_ allies now,” Grimlock pointed out. “And they've not hurt him.”  
  
“I didn't say that they would. But Skywarp's got a cruel streak, and Thundercracker's got a cold spark,” Wheeljack said. He rubbed a hand down his face and over his blast mask. “But if you approve then I guess I do, too.”  
  
Grimlock chuckled. “There's nothing to approve. It's Swoop's choice.”  
  
“Like you and Starscream?”  
  
Grimlock paused, gathering his thoughts and attempting to decipher Wheeljack's tone. He didn't know if it was approval or concern. Perhaps a mix of both.  
  
“Yes,” he finally said. “Like Starscream.”  
  
Wheeljack sighed, his indicators flashing a muted blue. “You're serious about him?”  
  
Grimlock inclined his helm. “Yes.”  
  
“Him Grimlock stupid serious,” Slag piped up from where he and Snarl had been unashamedly eavesdropping despite interest in the two games Wheeljack had given them.  
  
“Him Grimlock making plans,” Snarl added. They shared a look, even though Grimlock gave them a hard stare through his visor.  
  
This was his revelation to tell, not theirs. His brothers harrumphed and went quiet, jostling each other and muttering subvocally. Their attention returned to their puzzle games, which Grimlock realized he would need more of.  
  
“Plans?” Wheeljack echoed, his field nudging Grimlock's with curiosity and, thankfully, not an ounce of reproach.  
  
Grimlock shifted his gaze to Swoop whose faceplate was coloring as Ratchet said something to him. Ratchet looked calm, however, so whatever his scans told him, it was good news.  
  
“One does not simply tame Starscream,” Grimlock said with a little chuckle. “Megatron made that mistake. I don't intend to repeat it.”  
  
Wheeljack tilted his helm. “Then it's not just political?”  
  
“If he denies me, then I'll settle for having a competent second in command alone, since Optimus was so kind as to steal Soundwave from me,” Grimlock replied as he watched Swoop's plating ruffle, the kind of reaction that indicated embarrassment and not fear. “Choosing to court Starscream is a charming bonus.”  
  
Wheeljack's ventilations stuttered. “C-court?”  
  
“You should have seen the look on Prime's face,” Grimlock said, subtly watching Wheeljack from his peripheral vision in order to gauge the engineer's reaction. “He was speechless.”  
  
“I imagine so.” Wheeljack audibly performed a systems reset before he turned and rested a hand on Grimlock's arm. “Are you happy with him?”  
  
“For a certain definition of the word.” Grimlock lay his hand over Wheeljack's and gave it a pat. “You don't need to worry about us, Wheeljack. We may be Decepticons now, but we were taught to be Autobots.”  
  
“That you were,” Ratchet interjected as he walked up, guiding Swoop with one hand, who he urged to join Slag and Snarl with a quiet pat to his aft.  
  
Swoop squawked and dug his present out of subspace before notching himself between his bigger brothers on the large futon.  
  
Time for the adults to talk, Grimlock supposed. He chuckled to himself. He wasn't any older than the others, but his programming enabled him to mature three times as fast. There was a reason he was leader, and it wasn't entirely based on brute strength.  
  
“Well?” Grimlock prompted.  
  
Ratchet tossed him a look, one that Autobots everywhere had learned to fear. “Well,” he said, “I'm going to sit down at this table, and you two are going to join me, and we are going to share some energon because I'm old, exhausted, and you've got a lot of explaining to do.”  
  
“Sir, yes, sir,” Wheeljack said with a waggle of his orbital ridge.  
  
“And don't call me sir.”  
  
Grimlock chuckled. It appeared, at least on the surface, that nothing had changed between the two mechs he considered his creators. He was relieved that the haunted look was gone from Ratchet's optics, and he didn't cringe whenever Grimlock came near. Nor had he bolted when Swoop intended to hug him. His field had been open and welcoming.  
  
Progress was progress, no matter what form it took.  
  
They sat at the table with Wheeljack rummaging up some energon for himself and Ratchet while Grimlock declined. He was more than adequately fueled.  
  
“Tell me about Swoop,” Grimlock said, and then tacked on 'please' because he'd been taught to be polite, even if he rarely utilized it. Politeness didn't do him much good on the battlefield.  
  
Ratchet curled a hand around his energon. He sipped at it on occasion, something in the way he savored each mouthful a reminder to how often he'd spent going without.  
  
Grimlock was reminded, all over again, of the beasts he had leashed. The Constructicons were useful, and they better be damn grateful they were. Otherwise, he would have visited upon them every indignity they had forced on Ratchet, the jealous slaggers. Sometimes, Grimlock hated being practical.  
  
Ratchet didn't blame him for making use of a resource, but he also didn't come near anywhere a Constructicon worked.  
  
“I'm still not entirely sure what Shockwave was attempting,” Ratchet admitted as he rubbed a hand down his face. He still looked exhausted, his optics dim and his paint carrying a dull sheen. “He was examining both Swoop's spark and his processor. I suspect he was tinkering with Swoop's core programming.”  
  
Grimlock's spark rippled with chill. “Tinkering?”  
  
“I can't see anything detrimental in what he's adjusted so far,” Ratchet admitted, though it was with a disgusted frown. “For the most part, he tweaked Swoop's emotional range, and mental aptitude.”  
  
“He's smarter,” Wheeljack clarified. “And his natural empathy has been given a boost. He's more...”  
  
“… normal,” Grimlock finished. He sank down in his seat, feeling it creak beneath him. “Except for the part where he's struggling to fly.”  
  
“We think Shockwave was in the process of adjusting those systems, too, when we rescued Swoop,” Ratchet explained. He paused to take a sip of his energon before he continued. “He was working on removing inhibitions. and we believe he ended up causing an opposite effect.”  
  
Grimlock rapped his fingers on the table. “Instead of making Swoop fearless, he inflicted him with a lingering sense of anxiety.”  
  
Wheeljack's indicators lit up purple, bright with pride. “Exactly.”  
  
“Can you fix him?” Grimlock asked as he glanced over at Swoop, squished between Slag and Snarl, but still content.  
  
“We can try,” Ratchet said, but there was restraint in his vocals, prompting Grimlock to look at him. “But it's just not my area of expertise. Fiddly processor work is the kind of knowledge that got tossed aside in favor of faster methods to get wounded soldiers back onto the battlefield.”  
  
“I'm not getting Shockwave anywhere near him,” Grimlock said, a touch too close to a growl as his plating bristled.  
  
He reminded himself that Ratchet and Wheeljack weren't the enemy here, even as Wheeljack leaned near and rested a hand on his arm. His field projected nothing but sympathy and calm, and Grimlock leaned into it, drawing on Wheeljack's strength. That inner calm and confidence had always been a guide for Grimlock.  
  
“It doesn't have to be Shockwave,” Ratchet said as his shoulders dipped visibly. Not fear, but disappointment.  
  
In himself?  
  
Guilt clawed at Grimlock's spark.  
  
“There's a Neutral mech, name of Chromedome. He's a processor specialist,” Ratchet continued, hunching over his energon cube. His gaze wandered away. “We're having him take a look at Red Alert, and there's hope for Red. Maybe he can help Swoop.”  
  
“You trust him?”  
  
Wheeljack and Ratchet exchanged glances.  
  
“Trust is a strong word,” Wheeljack admitted. “But we didn't have any other choice for Red. Without Chromedome's help, he would have stayed the drone Megatron made him.”  
  
Grimlock's engine rumbled with another snarl. He didn't know if he wanted to trust one of Metalhawk's kind, but if it meant helping Swoop, maybe he had no choice. All he could do was present the idea to Swoop. Grimlock would leave it up to him.  
  
Maybe Swoop didn't even want someone else poking around his processor. Maybe he was fine the way he was. Grimlock would let him decide for himself.  
  
“I'll think about it,” Grimlock finally said as behind him, roaring laughter drew his attention once more.  
  
Slag and Snarl were trying to jostle each other again, but a single squawk from Swoop made them calm down again. All he had to do was give them a wounded look and the two would settle.  
  
Swoop was the best of them, and Shockwave had almost destroyed him. It was getting harder and harder not to stride down into the Decepticon brig and rid himself of that particular problem.  
  
“He's healthy,” Grimlock added as he returned his gaze to the two mechs he considered his creators. “That's what matters.”  
  
Ratchet nodded, finishing the last of his energon and resting the cube on the table. “He's healthy. He's in no danger of offlining. He's a survivor, Grimlock. He's strong. All of you are.”  
  
“Were,” Grimlock corrected, and his spark clenched again. His helm dipped. “Were.”  
  
They weren't strong enough to save Sludge or keep the Decepticons from walking away with Swoop in the first place. They hadn't been enough, even with Defensor, to stop the tide of Decepticons from sweeping over Earth.  
  
They'd been, for lack of a better word, helpless.  
  
He'd watched Menasor and Bruticus descend on Defensor and meticulously take Hot Spot's gestalt apart. But this, Grimlock had only seen in snatches because he and the rest of the Dinobots had their own problems. They had Overlord and Blitzwing and Astrotrain and Devastator on their heelstruts.  
  
If Sixshot and Black Shadow had been present, Grimlock knew not a single Dinobot would have survived that day. He wouldn't call it gratitude he felt, but there had been a certain element of luck, he supposed.  
  
Not for Sludge, however.  
  
Sludge, who'd gotten between Grimlock and Overlord and paid the price.  
  
If Grimlock had been stronger, that wouldn't have happened. If he hadn't let Overlord knock him down, send him into a brief reset, Sludge wouldn't have felt the need to step in and protect him. That was Grimlock's job. He was the leader. He was the one who was supposed to protect and defend his team.  
  
Instead, Sludge had taken Overlord's attention away from Grimlock, buying him enough time to get back to his pedes. Enough time to see Blitzwing and Astrotrain cackling as they dragged off Swoop, his wings broken and twisted.  
  
Grimlock had roared, intent on going after them, retrieving Swoop, but Devastator intercepted and swatted him aside like so much trash. He'd gone crashing through downtown Portland and was buried under piles and piles of debris.  
  
Slag and Snarl dug him out much later, and they'd limped away to find shelter to tend to their injuries. They'd told him what became of Sludge. All three of them were dented and missing armor and leaking energon, but they'd spent enough time around Ratchet to pick up a thing or two. They'd gotten creative.  
  
Duct tape might have been involved.  
  
They'd done enough to keep themselves together, for their self-repair to fix what they could, and to get mobile.  
  
They'd gone back to the battlefield, thinking maybe they could retrieve the Protectobots, give them a proper service. Thinking, possibly, they could find Sludge and say goodbye to their brother.  
  
There was nothing left but splatters of energon and pieces of plating scattered throughout the mud and debris. If any of Defensor had survived, Grimlock didn't know, save that Slag thought maybe First Aid made it. The Decepticons had taken the empty frames with them. They'd taken Swoop and Sludge.  
  
They'd gone to the Ark next, but the Decepticons had already been there and ransacked everything. They smashed what they could. They tore open doors. They destroyed memories and supplies and if it wasn't for the Dinobot “closet” being so out of the way, the Decepticons might have destroyed that, too. Either that, or they hadn't thought it worth raiding.  
  
They did what they could. They hid. They watched. They waited for an opportunity, and Grimlock drew upon his anger like a battery. He vowed vengeance. He never forgot the sight of Sludge skidding in front of him and charging Overlord, the ground shaking beneath the force of their collision.  
  
He should have been stronger.  
  
Still, Grimlock never stopped wondering how he and Slag and Snarl had survived. Megatron had made sure to be thorough everywhere else. Grimlock had learned, after it all went down, just how thorough Megatron had been. Going so far as to sift through the wreckage of Omega Supreme, and Skyfire and Silverbolt before dismantling them and smelting them.  
  
How could he have missed three Dinobots?  
  
Surely the humans gearing up to retaliate hadn't been that much of a distraction? Grimlock didn't know. He supposed he ought to ask Starscream about it at some point, not that it really mattered. It wouldn't make Swoop whole or make Sludge any less dead.  
  
A hand on his shoulder startled Grimlock out of his memories. He jerked, gaze snapping up to see that Wheeljack had slid out of his chair and moved to Grimlock's side. His field was one of comfort and shared sorrow.  
  
“The Decepticons took a lot from us, but ya can't blame yourself, Grim,” Wheeljack said as Ratchet reached across the table and took Grimlock's hand, squeezing it.  
  
“If you're looking for somewhere to point fingers, maybe you should look at the mech you've got as your second,” Ratchet said, a touch of a growl to his vocals. “It was all his plan.”  
  
Wheeljack tossed him a look and while he didn't say anything, the further downturn of Ratchet's mouth suggested that Wheeljack had sent something disapproving over their bond.  
  
“I am aware of Starscream's contribution,” Grimlock said with a small ventilation. “I have learned to separate his actions in a time of war from his actions now. I am also aware that a lot of what happened was not his intention. Those were Megatron's adjustments.”  
  
“That doesn't absolve him of blame,” Ratchet retorted.  
  
Grimlock inclined his helm and turned his hand, so that now he held Ratchet's instead. “I never said that it did. Only that his motivations and Megatron's motivations were different.”  
  
Grimlock didn't see it as a matter of forgiveness. Though he wasn't sure he could put it into words Ratchet would understand. Ratchet had every reason to hate the Decepticons, hate Starscream, hate anyone he viewed as representative of his time spent in Constructicon custody and all the friends he'd lost.  
  
But Grimlock had learned how to be practical, no matter how much it pained him. And practically, Starscream had done what he had to do.  
  
“As hard as it is to accept,” Grimlock added, much more quietly, “we have to concentrate on the future and not the past.” He kept his anger for Shockwave because Shockwave had not expressed any remorse for his actions and admitted he would do it again, and continue doing so if given the opportunity.  
  
Starscream, by contrast, had already spoken at length how much he regretted how far Megatron had taken it. That he'd wanted the war to be over at all costs, but hadn't expected what would happen in the aftermath.  
  
That for a moment, he'd honestly thought Optimus Prime and the Autobots would win.  
  
The difference there was what mattered to Grimlock. Or maybe he was biased when it came to Starscream. He didn't know. That was something he'd have to pick apart later.  
  
“For everyone's sake if not our own,” Grimlock finished.  
  
Ratchet cycled a vent and scrubbed his faceplate with his free hand, only to hide behind it. “When did you get wiser than us?” he asked, a tightness to his tone, but his field nudging at Grimlock's with affection.  
  
Grimlock squeezed his hand and leaned into the embrace Wheeljack offered next to him. “I guess I just had good teachers.”  
  
Ratchet's hand shook a little in his, but the affection in his field spoke a thousand fold.  


 

~

  
  
Starscream was used to command meetings. Granted, he was used to command meetings that he had to limp out of or wait until Megatron stormed out before he could pick himself up and lick his wounds. But that was beside the point.  
  
He was used to command meetings. He was used to their tediousness.  
  
The new Lord of the Decepticons, however, was not. Grimlock looked as though he were engaged with the various reports being delivered by their command stuff, but Starscream suspected Grimlock was bored beyond all reason. If not in recharge.  
  
Starscream nudged Grimlock under the table with his pede, and Grimlock fractionally tilted his helm toward him. Acknowledged. Not recharging then. Starscream tossed him a smirk and returned his attention to Knock Out's half-sparked recitation of the state of their medbay.  
  
“I honestly don't know what else you want me to say,” Knock Out said with a flick of his wrist before planting his hand on his hip. “We're fully stocked, overstaffed, and all I've been doing is too many maintenance appointments. Do you know how many clogged filters I've changed in the past week?”  
  
Starscream pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge and lamented that they had no better option for Knock Out, who only performed his job because he refused to bow to Glit. Why were decent Decepticon medics so hard to find? Knock Out was good at the repairing part, but not so good at the Chief Officer part.  
  
“I have some idea,” Starscream drawled and pointed at Knock Out. “But being as we need all of our mechs in good repair, it is a necessary sacrifice you should be making. I'm quite sure, after all, that your filters are in pristine condition.”  
  
Knock Out's plating twitched as though affronted. “Of course they are. I'm not a heathen.”  
  
Grimlock snuffled a vent. It took everything Starscream had not to scoff at Knock Out. He could be a little ridiculous sometimes.  
  
“Then I expect that you'll maintain the Decepticons to the same standard,” Starscream said and waved Knock Out back to his seat, praying that the next item on the docket was more interesting. “That brings us to petitions.”  
  
Hah. He honestly didn't expect there to be any. Who wanted to join the Decepticons at a time like this when everyone else rapidly jumped ship?  
  
Cyclonus stood up then, his purple claws tapping over his datapad. “Unsurprisingly, we have very few. Not a single Autobot has petitioned to take on the Decepticon badge, but Horri-bull has requested to defect, if the Neutrals will have him, the Autobots if not.”  
  
Starscream cycled his optics. “Horri-bull?” He leaned forward, a laugh burbling in his vocalizer. “He honestly expects that the Neutrals will welcome him with open arms?”  
  
Cyclonus shifted his gaze, coughing into his palm. “There appears to be a romantic connection involved.”  
  
Starscream's mouth opened and closed. Grimlock made a sound that was quite possibly a laugh. Knock Out rolled his optics so hard they should have fallen out of his helm.  
  
“Are you kidding me?” Thundercracker muttered, perhaps an attempt to be subvocal that failed as he rubbed his faceplate and sagged lower on his stool.  
  
“The war is over,” Cyclonus pointed out. “Is it so surprising that relationships might develop as a result?”  
  
“Not surprising as much as it is… no. No, it's surprising.” Starscream shook his helm.  
  
The war had only been over for a few weeks, if that. Unless this was a pre-established relationship, some kind of spark-warming romantic gobbledygook that encompassed millennia.  
  
He sighed and flicked his fingers in dismissal. “Is Horri-bull eligible?” Starscream asked. He consulted his list, but couldn't find Horri-bull among those who were incarcerated without eligibility for parole.  
  
“He was one of mine,” Cyclonus answered. “He had better be eligible.” There was a hard edge to his vocals, and Starscream, in that moment, did not envy Cyclonus' troops.  
  
He was more than aware that Cyclonus had been quietly transferring members out of his unit long before Megatron was killed. He had a standard, a code of conduct, and anyone who did not obey that code was removed from his unit. By force, if necessary.  
  
Starscream approved.  
  
“If he's eligible, then approve it,” Grimlock said, proving further that he wasn't in recharge, despite evidence to the contrary. “One less frame for us to fuel and if it means he'll behave and foster good relations, all the better.”  
  
Cyclonus inclined his helm and made a notation on his datapad. “I'll inform him of his approval then. Which brings us to the petition of a Neutral to take the oath of belonging to the Decepticons.”  
  
Starscream straightened. “Beg pardon?”  
  
He wasn't the only one who looked confused. Thundercracker cycled his optics. Knock Out paused mid-yawn. Grimlock's visor brightened.  
  
Right now, the Decepticons were the villains. Who in their right processor would switch to wearing a purple badge? Especially if they started off Neutral?  
  
“Who?” Thundercracker asked.  
  
“A Waste Management minibot, designation Tailgate. He's been here on numerous occasions as consultant,” Cyclonus said, tapping something on his datapad that prompted Starscream's to chime.  
  
He pulled up the new file from Cyclonus, skimming the contents. Tailgate was familiar to him. Starscream had seen the little mech around New Iacon before, usually in the company of one of the guarded Constructicons. He was cheerful, perpetually chatty, a bit on the dense side.  
  
He did not fit anyone's definition of a Decepticon. They would eat him alive over here.  
  
Starscream frowned. “Why?”  
  
Cyclonus ducked his helm, and on anyone else, Starscream would call that action embarrassment. But this was Cyclonus, not some meek Autobot. He did not do embarrassment, except the brief flicker of his field seemed to suggest that he did.  
  
“He is something of a friend,” Cyclonus said as though choosing his words carefully. “And he is under the mistaken impression that this is a good choice for him. Aside from the fact he is ill-suited to the Decepticons, I worry what repercussions this might garner us from Metalhawk.”  
  
Starscream wasn't sure which of those two statements he wanted to tackle first. Cyclonus was a notorious loner. He did not make friends, especially not with chirpy little Neutral minibots. How had that happened?  
  
But he supposed the comment about Metalhawk took precedence over his astonishment.  
  
“What do you mean?” Starscream asked. “He doesn't have to be a Decepticon to maintain a friendship with one.”  
  
Cyclonus rubbed at his forehelm. “A fact of which I am well aware, but Metalhawk seems to be overly protective of him. Now whether that affection is genuine or a means to an end, I am not certain. But Metalhawk seeks to restrict his travels to New Iacon, and Tailgate is of the mind that he should have the freedom to go where he likes.”  
  
“Which he should,” Thundercracker said, something thoughtful to his voice. “Metalhawk should have no reason to apply such restrictions to his own, unless he fears it is the beginning of a mass exodus.”  
  
“You mean, you think he's afraid he's going to get even more outnumbered,” Starscream clarified as he folded his arms over his cockpit. It was certainly a valid assumption.  
  
Cyclonus cycled his vocalizer. “There is more, unfortunately. When last I spoke to Tailgate, I discovered he had snuck over here without telling anyone. Fearing reprisal, I immediately escorted him back, and Metalhawk was waiting. He made several poorly veiled threats.”  
  
Grimlock straightened, instantly visibly alert. “Of what sort?” he asked, just short of a demand.  
  
“It should come as no surprise that Decepticons are not welcome in Nova Cronum, but it seems to extend beyond that,” Cyclonus explained, gathering himself from his brief embarrassment. “It is my belief that he does not even wish to foster good relations. He implied that he was willing to make it a political mess if I contacted Tailgate again.”  
  
Starscream narrowed his optics. “But not vice-versa?”  
  
Cyclonus worked his jaw. “I was under the impression that Tailgate would not be given the choice otherwise. He has my comm if he wants to contact me. I do not know if he will be given the opportunity to do so.”  
  
Starscream winced.  
  
He rapped his fingers on the table as he digested this. A political tangle, this was. They had no jurisdiction over Metalhawk. The best they could do was convene a meeting of the heads of state – Optimus, Grimlock, and Metalhawk – and force a revisit of the treaty. But whatever Metalhawk did with his own mechs was unfortunately, none of Optimus or Grimlock's concern.  
  
They could offer sanctuary, but they could not interfere. That was the term of the agreement.  
  
Starscream suspected, however, that if word got out to Optimus, he wouldn't let a little thing like a line on a legal document prevent him from saving someone he viewed in need of aid. Which would careen them right into another war.  
  
“Extend an invitation to Tailgate,” Grimlock said as Starscream continued to gnaw on the matter. “Approve his petition.”  
  
Cyclonus frowned. “He is not Decepticon--”  
  
“I'm aware,” Grimlock interrupted curtly. “But this appears to be a matter of some urgency. Extend the invitation and forward the petition to Optimus as well. While Metalhawk might reject us, with Optimus' support, we may have an edge.”  
  
Starscream cycled a ventilation. “Or he could interpret it as an act of aggression.”  
  
“For extending a hand of welcome to a Neutral?” Thundercracker asked, his orbital ridges drawing down in visible confusion. His wings flicked.  
  
“For attempting to subvert his authority,” Starscream clarified. “Metalhawk fights his battles with words and politics. Right now, he may seem like a fool. But when others return, especially other Neutrals, they will review what has happened since the war's end and they will decide where to lend their weight.”  
  
Cyclonus inclined his helm in agreement. “It is war, if not a different brand. We will all have to tread carefully. This is Metalhawk's territory.”  
  
He'd been a politician before the war, after all.  
  
“We're not without our weapons,” Grimlock said. “I'll contact Prime, set up a private meeting. He should have a better idea how to approach this. Until then, send the official invitation to Nova Cronum. Make it public.”  
  
Starscream smirked. “If we're open about everything, he can't say we're trying to be sneaky.” He tilted his helm toward Grimlock. “You aren't as dumb as they think you are.”  
  
Grimlock tapped his own helm, his field flicking against Starscream's with amusement. “That they underestimate us is our advantage.”  
  
Starscream chuckled. Thundercracker tossed him a look with narrowed optics that Starscream ignored.  
  
“Was there anyone else?” Starscream asked.  
  
“Not at this moment.” Cyclonus tapped a few more claws on the datapad before he returned to his seat.  
  
Starscream checked his chronometer. It was getting late. Time to wrap this up. “Then is there anything else we need to discuss?”  
  
No one spoke up. Knock Out looked as though he planned to vault from his chair so that he was the first out the door.  
  
“Nice to see we're all as verbose as ever,” Starscream drawled. “I call this meeting adjourned. You can all do whatever it is you're supposed to be doing. Cyclonus, forward me that approval before you send it to Metalhawk.”  
  
It turned out Starscream was wrong. Because Knock Out wasn't the first to jet out the door, it was Thundercracker. Whatever had his joints in a twist, Starscream didn't know. Plans with Skywarp perhaps?  
  
Cyclonus forwarded the document before he left, and Knock Out actually lingered for a longer moment. “By the way,” he said. “I would be most appreciative if you would hurry up and appoint a new Chief of Science. I've had enough of Insecticons calling me up at odd hours.”  
  
“Noted,” Starscream said. “I'm open to suggestions if you have any.”  
  
Knock Out turned and flicked a hand over his shoulder. “I'm just the medic. In the category of things that aren't my job, this counts.”  
  
He left before Starscream could form a retort, not that he was annoyed. In fact, he was too amused at the moment to be offended. He'd probably get angry later if he thought about it.  
  
Starscream stretched his arms over his helm and arched his backstrut, ex-venting a sigh of relief. It felt good to stamp complete over so many things on his to-do list. It felt like they were’d actually accomplished something.  
  
This called for a celebration, he thought.  
  
His gaze slid to Grimlock, who hadn't moved since Starscream called a dismissal to the meeting. In fact, if anything he looked like he fidgeted as he rapped his fingers on the table.  
  
Starscream tilted his helm. “Did we forget something?”  
  
“No.” Grimlock shifted toward Starscream and then gave his chair a push, rolling himself closer and spinning it until he faced Starscream. “We need to talk.”  
  
Apprehension dripped into Starscream's tanks. He tensed all over and narrowed his optics. Well. There went his good mood.  
  
“Do we?” he asked, keeping his tone mild. “Is this something I should call Cyclonus back for?”  
  
“Not unless you want him to know the finer details of our relationship,” Grimlock retorted with a snort.  
  
Starscream frowned. “He'll have to find out eventually,” he said, only to pause. “Unless, of course, that is the whole point of this conversation. In which case, sure. Whatever. It was fun while it lasted.”  
  
He shoved back from the table, but Grimlock's hand whipped out, fingers encircling Starscream's wrist. He didn't grip or squeeze, but there was request in the motion.  
  
“That's not it,” Grimlock said, his vocals unexpectedly soft. “And it would be nice if you didn't jump to conclusions.”  
  
Starscream tugged and Grimlock released his wrist. He settled back in his chair and crossed his arms. “It was a preemptive strike,” he said with a sniff. “What do you want, _Leader_?”  
  
Grimlock twitched but didn't rise to the bait. “To court you, if you'll accept me.”  
  
Starscream's vents stalled. He stared at the Dinobot as though Grimlock had informed him they were all Autobots now. He was quite sure he hadn't heard correctly and rebooted his audial sensors just to make certain there were no errors.  
  
“Beg pardon?”  
  
Grimlock cycled a ventilation and leaned forward. “I want to court you, Starscream, as a potential mate.”  
  
Yes. Grimlock repeated himself, and it was still the same. Starscream had heard correctly. He just didn't believe it.  
  
“Courting is for grounders,” Starscream scoffed, while inside, his internals performed flips and knots. He was at once flattered and floored.  
  
“From what I understand, Seekers had courtship rituals as well,” Grimlock replied, still in that even tone, not at all bothered by Starscream's own waspish retorts. “However, I can't fly. This is the best I can do. Unless, of course, that was your version of a rejection.”  
  
Starscream shook his helm, hunching his shoulders. His wings stilled. “It wasn't a rejection. It was shock. This came out of nowhere, you have to admit. You barely know me.”  
  
“I know enough.” Grimlock lifted a hand, and when Starscream didn't flinch away, he rested it on Starscream's knee. “I know that this isn't a game for me, and I want you to know it, too.”  
  
Starscream didn't want to say he squirmed, but it was a near thing. There was a terrifying honesty in Grimlock's vocals and field. Starscream wasn't sure what to do when faced with it. He was used to duplicity, not honesty.  
  
He didn't know how to handle genuine attraction.  
  
He worked his intake. “I need to think about it.”  
  
Grimlock bobbed his helm. “Fair enough.” He patted Starscream's knee and rose to his pedes. “I'll wait for your answer.”  
  
“That's it?” Starscream blurted, mouth dropping open a bit in surprise. Was Grimlock just going to walk away?  
  
Grimlock looked down at him. “Should there be more?”  
  
Starscream felt heat steal into his cheeks, confusion the likes of which he'd felt when Skywarp and Thundercracker had first cornered him. He felt he was missing something, some key component of societal interaction that had made his trine give him looks of sympathy and concern.  
  
He refused to let his own embarrassment rule him. So he swallowed it down and planted nonchalance on his face instead.  
  
Starscream tossed his helm and leaned back, giving Grimlock a coy look. “You aren't even going to try to convince me?”  
  
There was a tiny click, like a fan coming to life, though Grimlock's field betrayed nothing. He turned fully toward Starscream and leaned over him, closer and closer, until his hands rested on the table behind Starscream, bracketing him within the Dinobot's arms. Their faces were mere inches apart, and all Starscream could see was the amber gleam of Grimlock's visor.  
  
“Do you want me to?” Grimlock purred, and the heat of him wafted against Starscream's cockpit.  
  
His vents caught. But he curved his lips into a smirk. “If you think you're up to the challenge,” Starscream said. “Give me a reason to say yes, _Leader_.”  
  
Grimlock shook his helm, the light behind his visor narrowing. “Don't call me that,” he said, shifting his weight to one hand so that the other could rest around Starscream's jaw, his thumb stroking Starscream's bottom lip. “Not when it comes to this.”  
  
Starscream's spark absolutely did not oscillate a little faster. He flicked his glossa out, over the tip of Grimlock's thumb.  
  
“Noted,” he said, vocals huskier than he intended. He lifted one pede, rubbing it along the outside of Grimlock's leg. Heat began to trickle through his lines. “Now prove it.”  
  
Grimlock's power plant rumbled. His field rose up and blanketed Starscream in a wave of lust. “Gladly.”  
  
Starscream shivered.  
  
What was that human adage about waking the sleeping beast, he wondered as Grimlock descended upon him. Because it certainly didn't do Grimlock justice.  


 

***


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: "Bird Set Free," Sia

Starscream cuddled in his recharge.  
  
Grimlock could not have guessed, years after first encountering Starscream on the field of battle, that he would ever come to this piece of knowledge. But onlining with a snuggly Seeker half-across his frame and one of Starscream's hands hooked into a seam, was now coming to be a daily occurrence, and frankly, Grimlock didn't mind in the slightest. It was far better than Starscream either kicking him out of berth, or leaving after cleaning up.  
  
Though it did make getting off the berth and extracting himself something of a challenge. Starscream still recharged like a Decepticon, meaning the slightest movement and he popped online, tense and ready to fight.  
  
Now whether that was a consequence of being a Decepticon or being Megatron's second-in-command, Grimlock didn't know. He hadn't asked because Megatron was a touchy subject. It was the quickest way to make Starscream close up and getting him to talk honestly was hard enough as it was.  
  
Grimlock, however, didn't have a choice. He had somewhere to be, and as much as he enjoyed the warm frame pressed against his, he was required elsewhere. Not only for the political state of Cybertron, but for his own peace of mind.  
  
The Autobots were observing and honoring their dead today. Sludge would be one of them, and Grimlock did not intend to miss it.  
  
Grimlock lifted his unpinned hand every so carefully and rested it on Starscream's back as gently as possible. Starscream shifted on top of him, making a noise that Grimlock almost dared call cute except Starscream would claw his visor off if he said so. Starscream's knee slid up a fraction, sliding over Grimlock's pelvic armor, and he fought off a shiver.  
  
He didn't have time to indulge, but by Primus, he wanted to. There was something addictive about Starscream.  
  
He turned his helm, intent to nudge against Starscream's, when his internal communication system beeped at him. He didn't immediately recognize the ident code, though his engine rumbled with distaste when he looked at the secondary identifier and realized it belonged to Metalhawk.  
  
What a way to ruin an otherwise decent morning.  
  
Grimlock cycled a ventilation and braced himself as he opened the datapacket, which contained a request and invitation from Metalhawk to discuss the parameters of a beneficial relationship between them. Meaning no Autobots and no Optimus Prime involved, just Metalhawk and Grimlock having a civilized discussion about how their two factions could co-exist. He must have received the notification about Tailgate's intent to defect.  
  
Grimlock smelled a conspiracy. And he didn't like it.  
  
He shifted the message to his waiting list. He would worry about it later, after the honoring. He didn't want to think about political nonsense right now. Whether or not he should accept was a complicated question. He would have to discuss it with Starscream and Cyclonus as well, to get their perspective and perhaps a plan of attack.  
  
It could wait.  
  
He returned his attention to the Seeker in his arms and almost started when he found that slitted red optics looked up at him. There was a slight curve to Starscream's lips, as though he were amused.  
  
Grimlock's fingers tickled at his wing hinges. “And how long have you been online?”  
  
“Long enough,” Starscream replied as he pushed his fingers into Grimlock's seam, stroking the web of cables beneath. “You're tense.”  
  
“Mmm.” Grimlock let himself soak in the moment for the space of a ventilation before he reluctantly sat up, forcing Starscream to do so as well. “Tends to happen when something unpleasant lands in your inbox when you online.”  
  
“Who do I have to blame for ruining your morning?” Starscream's wings flicked, first one and then the other, a sort of stretch that he did every morning.  
  
How weird was it that Grimlock knew that?  
  
“Metalhawk.”  
  
Starscream made a face, one that expressed his displeasure when he normally would have kept that internal. “What does he want?”  
  
“A meeting.” Grimlock rolled his neck cables and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His chronometer pinged a reminder at him. He had enough time for a cube of energon and a rinse.  
  
Apparently, he'd over-recharged. He was quite sure Starscream was to blame for that.  
  
“Of what sort?”  
  
“The sort that is underhanded and sneaky.” Grimlock tilted his helm, giving Starscream a look from the corner of his visor. “I'd be impressed if it wasn't so blatant.”  
  
Starscream cocked an orbital ridge at him. “Was that meant to be a compliment or an insult to me?”  
  
Grimlock laughed and forced himself to his pedes, his backstrut aching. He needed a bigger berth if Starscream was going to be spending more time on it. “Call it what you like. I'm pressed for time, however.”  
  
“Well, maybe I have places to be, too,” Starscream said as he stood, his wings arched on his back. Irritation. Annoyance. A touch of hurt perhaps.  
  
Navigating the minefield that was Starscream could be tricky sometimes.  
  
Grimlock took his hand before Starscream could fully whirl away and pressed his mouthplate to it, a mimicry of a kiss. “I mean to attend the Autobot honoring. What matters are on the table for you today?”  
  
“Not that,” Starscream admitted grudgingly. His wings slowly inched downward, a touch of embarrassment in his field. “Seeker meeting. We need to discuss what's left of the Coneheads and re-establish a chain of command.”  
  
“Sounds riveting,” Grimlock remarked as he dragged the back of Starscream's hand against his mouthplate. “I wish you luck.”  
  
“I won't need it.” Starscream's field touched his, filled with warmth.  
  
He hadn't said yes, yet. But if his behavior was any indication, Grimlock hoped that meant a positive outcome was forthcoming.  
  
Grimlock released Starscream's hand and straightened. “I do think I have enough time for the washracks, however. Care to share them with me?”  
  
“Why do I feel this is an effort to placate me?” Starscream asked, but Grimlock noticed, he turned toward the washrack with a flick of his wing Grimlock's direction.  
  
“It's not. There's some benefit for me, too.” Meaning, he got to put his hands all over Starscream's frame, and Starscream got to let him.  
  
Mutually beneficial.  
  
If there was an overload or two mixed up in it, all the better. It never ceased to surprise Grimlock how quickly Starscream could get him revved up. One coy grin or wink or flick of his wings, and Grimlock had to fight to keep his panels closed.  
  
“Mmm. So there is.” Starscream sauntered to the door and tossed a look over his shoulder. “Well, come on then. You don't want to be late.”  
  
“No, I certainly don't.” Grimlock's engime rumbled. He eagerly followed his second – and hopefully future partner – into the racks.  
  
They could be quick.  
  


~

  
  
Starscream was late.  
  
Thundercracker looked at Skywarp who grinned and mouthed 'Grimlock' at him before returning his attention to his handheld game. On his other side, Acid Storm looked annoyed. Sunstorm sat up eagerly, staring forward as if he couldn't wait for Starscream's arrival.  
  
Thundercracker sympathized with Acid Storm. They were all busy. They all had things to do. And their Air Commander was late.  
  
He shifted in his chair, and it wasn't until Skywarp nudged him with an elbow that Thundercracker realized his wings were twitching.  
  
“It's kind of a good thing,” Skywarp said, though he kept his voice low. “I mean, Star actually looks happy. I forgot he could smile.”  
  
Thundercracker folded his arms more firmly over his cockpit. “Yes, yes. I'm glad he's happy. But I'm not particularly glad I'm stuck on this chair until our leader stops groping him and he decides to show up.”  
  
Skywarp giggled.  
  
The door swished open, attracting their attention as their Air Commander strolled inside, still a little damp from what had to be a quick run through the washracks. He didn't look harried, but there was definitely a pep in his step. It was a little creepy. Statistics and history both had gone to show that Starscream was never happy.  
  
“Good morning, Seekers,” Starscream said, almost breezily. “This particular meeting is long overdue, but it's necessary. We have a lot of work to do.”  
  
“What are you going to do about Thrust?”  
  
Starscream paused and blinked. Thundercracker didn't blame him. That demand was more than a little abrupt and accusatory. It had come from Acid Storm.  
  
Starscream arched an orbital ridge and stared at the bright green Seeker. “As far as I'm concerned, Thrust can rot in the brig,” he said evenly. “Unless you feel that interfacing one Autobot to death and nearly doing the same to a second is a forgivable offense.”  
  
“They're Autobots,” Acid Storm retorted, his wings flicking up, a clear sign of agitation. “We were supposed to hate them.”  
  
Starscream paced in front of them, agitation edging into his own field as well. “And yet, you and Sunstorm did not avail yourself of either of the Autobots you caught. Neither did Thundercracker and Skywarp.”  
  
“We have no interest in Autobot slaves,” Acid Storm replied. He sneered, disgust plainly tangible.  
  
Thundercracker doubted it had anything to do with Acid Storm disliking the concept of slavery. He seemed to loathe more the fact they were Autobots, and probably, that they were grounders. The Cybertronian-kept Seekers had kept more of the disdain for non-flying mechs than those who had been on the Nemesis with Megatron.  
  
“My point exactly. We are Decepticons. We are Seekers and there was a time that actually meant something. I intend to return us to that time.” Starscream paced another step before whirling to face them all, his expression one of stubbornness. “Which is why Thrust is going to stay in the brig until we can decide a suitable punishment, or he believably expresses his remorse to me. I doubt it'll be the latter.”  
  
“For the sake of an Autobot,” Acid Storm said with a scowl.  
  
“For the sake of Cybertron,” Starscream corrected. He folded his arms, returning Acid Storm's scowl. “If you don't like it, you are more than welcome to leave. To the Autobots, who I'm sure will be happy to hear you support enslaving prisoners of war, or to Metalhawk, who wishes we would all offline.”  
  
“Or,” Acid Storm continued with an upward tilt of both his helm and his wings, “I could challenge you for right of leadership.”  
  
Sunstorm straightened, rattling his stool. He grabbed at Acid Storm's arm. “Stop,” he hissed. “What are you thinking?”  
  
Even Thundercracker stared. Skywarp looked up from his game, going rigid with disbelief.  
  
“I'm thinking,” Acid Storm said as he caught and held Starscream's gaze, “that our Air Commander has forgotten who and what he is.”  
  
“Starscream is our Commander,” Sunstorm hissed, a little louder this time. His grip on Acid Storm's arm tightened to the point of creaking.  
  
“No.” Acid Storm shook him off and rose to his pedes, his wing held high and rigid behind him. “Starscream is _their_ Commander. We are nothing more than his failed copies.”  
  
A bevy of emotions flicked over Starscream's face. Thundercracker recognized the last one that settled into a firm mask over his expression.  
  
“Fine,” he bit out. “If you feel you must--”  
  
“No!” Thundercracker was on his pedes before he knew entirely what he was doing. He moved between Starscream and Acid Storm and noticed that Sunstorm was quick to do the same. “No, we are not doing this. Starscream, you are not accepting a challenge and Acid Storm, you are not issuing one.”  
  
Starscream glared.  
  
Acid Storm bristled. “Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?”  
  
“Wow,” Skywarp drawled, leaning back in his stool. He looked casual as you please, but Thundercracker could see the tension in his cables. He was ready to spring. “Don't you sound like a hatchling.”  
  
Acid Storm stiffened, his mouth falling open.  
  
Thundercracker cycled a ventilation and palmed his faceplate. “We are not letting Megatron and Shockwave's actions put a rift between us. You are angry at _them_ , Acid Storm. You know very well what they chose to do is no fault of Starscream's.”  
  
“Except for the part where he's willingly sharing a berth with that Dinobot.” Acid Storm sneered.  
  
“That Dinobot happens to be our leader,” Skywarp said in a mild tone, but Thundercracker could read the danger beneath it. Both he and Thundercracker liked Grimlock. He was good for Starscream, but more than that, he was good for the Decepticons. “I would not say such things if I were you.”  
  
“If we could all just calm down, that would be great,” Sunstorm interjected, projecting a rather powerful energy field, no matter how soothing it felt. “If I'm not mistaken, we are all allies, despite our personal differences.”  
  
Silence descended, but proving he could be reasoned with, Starscream backed down, leaving Thundercracker room to do so as well. Only Acid Storm stayed tense except that it left him looking the fool.  
  
Sunstorm slid between him and Thundercracker and looked his fellow Rainmaker in the optic. “Acid Storm, you're alone in this,” Sunstorm said, which came as a surprise to everyone in the room, no less Acid Storm. “Starscream is my Air Commander.”  
  
Acid Storm jerked backward, his wings sinking low. “Sunstorm--”  
  
The bright yellow Seeker shook his helm, cutting off his trinebrother, and likely, spark-brother if Acid Storm's blurted admittance held any truth. “I've had enough of bickering. I'd really just like to get to know the mech I'm made from, if it's all the same to you.”  
  
Acid Storm stared at his trinemate as though he hadn't seen Sunstorm before. A flurry of emotions rippled over his faceplate, before they settled on a mix of betrayal and dismay. His mouth opened, closed, and then he spun on a heelstrut, storming toward the door.  
  
Starscream, wisely, did not demand that he remain. They watched him go, and Thundercracker wasn't sure what to call the emotion he left behind. Discomfort was largely a part of it.  
  
He knew Shockwave was ethically amoral but stealing Starscream's specs to make copies of him? Why would he do that?  
  
“Because Starscream was supposed to be the best,” Sunstorm said, to Thundercracker's unvoiced question. He sighed and dropped back to his chair. “To be fair, he copied you two as well. But Novastorm and Ionstorm were too unstable.” His bottom lip dipped in a wry grin. “Warp technology is evidently difficult to duplicate.”  
  
Thundercracker's tank churned. He felt more than a little ill.  
  
Starscream frowned. “You're taking this rather calmly.”  
  
Sunstorm smirked and that was all Starscream. He folded his arms over his cockpit and tilted his helm. “Yes, well, I'm apparently the part of Starscream he never uses.”  
  
“You mean the rational side?” Skywarp asked with an arched orbital ridge. Thin amusement danced in the distant edges of his field.  
  
Sunstorm's smirk widened. “Yes.”  
  
Predictably, Starscream huffed. His wings twitched, a sign of his displeasure and a clear indication he headed toward an epic sulk.  
  
“In any case, don't worry about Acid Storm, I'll handle him,” Sunstorm added as he looked at Starscream again, his amusement sliding away. “We've spent our entire lives listening to Shockwave mutter about how much we've failed him. Given enough time, he'll get over resenting you for that.”  
  
Thundercracker frowned. “And your opinion on Thrust?”  
  
“He's exactly where he needs to be.” Sunstorm's field darkened with disgust before he reined it in, drawing it back and taking the soothing calm with him. “My trine might be incomplete, but I'll take a grounder into it before I'll take a rapist.”  
  
Starscream inclined his helm. “Fair enough as I didn't intend to release him anyway.”  
  
Sunstorm's lips quirked. “That's good to hear, Commander. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find my trinemate before he decides to change the weather.” He tipped his helm in a bow to Skywarp and Thundercracker both before he left the room.  
  
That was not at all the direction Thundercracker expected this meeting to take. Revelations and near-challenges?  
  
“Well,” Skywarp said as the door swished shut behind Sunstorm. “Should I warp down to the brig now or later?”  
  
Starscream cycled his optics and tossed their trinemate a confused look. “Why?”  
  
Skywarp's face was empty of expression as he leaned back. “Because I think I'm going to kill Shockwave.”  
  
“Don't be so dramatic,” Starscream said with a roll of his optics. “Besides, our dear leader claims first rights.”  
  
Thundercracker frowned. “Remind me why he's still alive?”  
  
“Because he may be of use to us, if we can restrain him.” Starscream pinched his nasal ridge, his wings drifting downward. All trace of his good mood from earlier was gone.  
  
Inwardly, Thundercracker cursed Acid Storm to the Pit and back.  
  
“I'll look at Shockwave's records,” Starscream continued, sounding exhausted now. “See if I can find the truth behind Acid Storm's anger and if there are any other… copies that may need our assistance. I will also destroy any data that might remain. I suppose going through Shockwave's laboratory is a task I have evaded for far too long.”  
  
“Do you want some help?” Skywarp offered.  
  
Starscream lowered his hand, tossing him a wry grin. “I appreciate the offer, but no. If need be, I will politely request Perceptor, or worse, Wheeljack.” He shook his helm and straightened. “Times like this, I hate Megatron even more for taking Skyfire.”  
  
Thundercracker and Skywarp exchanged a glance. Talking about Skyfire was one of the sure ways to put Starscream in a Mood. And it seemed he was clearly heading that way as Starscream strode toward the door.  
  
“Consider this meeting postponed,” Starscream threw over his shoulder.  
  
In his absence, the room was quiet and still, lacking Acid Storm's turbulent field, Sunstorm's prickling presence, and Starscream's growing agitation. Thundercracker cycled a ventilation and sank down into his chair, unsurprised when Skywarp immediately snuggled into his side. While Thundercracker was one to brood away his frustrations, Skywarp was one to cuddle them away.  
  
“That went well,” Skywarp remarked after Thundercracker rested an arm over him, stroking his back just below his wing hinges.  
  
Thundercracker made a noncommittal noise. He debated pinging Grimlock and giving him a warning, but remembered their leader was at the Autobot honoring and was unavailable. Besides, Thundercracker would hope Starscream kept him informed.  
  
“Course it could have been worse,” Skywarp added.  
  
Thundercracker hummed and stroked Skywarp's backstrut again. “Still better than it was before,” he said.  
  
Still better than Megatron.  
  


~

  
  
They almost didn't receive the notice until it was too late, Starscream lamented. This was what happened when your communications officer defected to the Autobots and you were left with secondary and tertiary mechs to call upon. Especially when they didn't know frag all what they were doing.  
  
Starscream stomped out of Decepticon Headquarters and glared up at the sky, and the ramshackle ship that slowly descended. He narrowed his optics and reconsidered.  
  
Or maybe it wasn't their new communications tower that was to blame, but the ship itself, because it looked to be in shoddy repair. The _Weak Anthropic Principle_ looked to be held together with duct tape, staples, and wishful thinking. It clattered and clanked and hissed as it landed with a ground-shaking bump. A piece of something from the underside jarred itself loose with a clatter.  
  
Starscream wouldn't be caught dead in that thing.  
  
“That's a Neutral ship,” Starscream said as he hurried to catch up to Grimlock, who was already waiting with his arms crossed over his chestplate.  
  
For someone who was potentially faced with dissension in the ranks, Grimlock did not look the least bit ruffled. If anything, he seemed intrigued by which Decepticons might be aboard the ramshackle collection of dented panels they dared give a name.  
  
“I know,” Grimlock said. “They're all Decepticons though. Circumstances necessitated a change in transportation. They call themselves the Scavengers.”  
  
Starscream arched an orbital ridge. “Not exactly a name that inspires terror.”  
  
“It was a long war,” Grimlock replied, and that was all he had to say on the matter. Except that he paused and looked at Starscream again, tilting his helm. “What is it?”  
  
Starscream blinked. “What do you mean?”  
  
Grimlock stepped closer, lowering his vocals. “You're agitated.”  
  
He'd noticed? Primus, how much attention did Grimlock pay to him?  
  
Starscream waved a hand of dismissal, hoping it was as flippant as he needed it to be. “Air Commander problems. I'm handling it.”  
  
“Want to talk about it?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Grimlock stared at him. Starscream stared back. He could be just as stubborn as a Dinobot if he needed to be.  
  
The ship settled into place, forcing their attention, but Starscream had no doubt Grimlock would only bring it up later. Which would give him more than enough time to gather his thoughts.  
  
Grimlock turned away, and they both watched the docking ramp extend. A small crowd of Decepticons had gathered to welcome the new arrivals, as understaffed as they were. Starscream was no exception, provided that they weren't Megatron supporters. He would leave it up to Grimlock, however, to take care of them.  
  
Six mechs emerged, one of them a flyer that Starscream recognized immediately and who, in turn, recognized him as well.  
  
“Commander Starscream!”  
  
Starscream held up a hand and backed up a pace. “No,” he said, like one might to an Earth canine. “Not this time, Misfire.” The last time he'd seen Misfire, the target-challenged Seeker had tackle-hugged him to the ground, and Starscream had bent an aileron.  
  
“Awww.” Misfire skidded to a halt and pouted, within inches of glomping Starscream. “You'd think you'd welcome me with open arms, Commander.”  
  
“Go tackle Skywarp if you're in need of affection,” Starscream retorted. “Or Scourge.” Though he doubted the dour flyer would have any interest in cuddling. But rumor had it Misfire and Scourge were old friends, whatever that meant.  
  
He heard a snort of laughter and directed a glare at Grimlock, but the Decepticon Leader wasn't paying him a bit of attention. Instead, he strode forward to greet the self-proclaimed leader of the group, whom Starscream did not recognize.  
  
“Captain Krok reporting,” the mech said, something in his design suggesting he didn't have an alt-mode. There were no tires, treads, rotors, or wings. Nor did he have the link-ups that indicated he was a cassette. “We heard of Lord Megatron's demise and the all call to return to Cybertron.”  
  
Grimlock tilted his helm. “Then I assume by your arrival here, you are not opposed to my rulership.”  
  
“On the contrary, if it means energon in our tanks and a warm place to recharge, we don't care who's in charge,” Krok said, gesturing over his shoulder to the other four members of his team.  
  
One was a rotary, taller than all the others, his expression concealed by a mask, but his crimson optics glowing balefully above it. Another was a grounder, judging by the tires, and half his helm was hidden behind a static bandage. There was another flyer with abnormally large pedes, and a fourth mech who resembled his leader in that he didn't seem to have a visible alt-mode.  
  
They were truly a ragtag bunch. Their paint was scuffed and discolored. They were covered in dents. They were in no better shape than their ship, which dropped another few rusty parts to the ground.  
  
Grimlock shifted, crossing his arms behind his back. “You are welcome to remain provided you adhere to our new code of conduct. We have a truce in place with the Autobots in Polyhex and the Neutrals in Nova Cronum. Travel between the two is only allowed through a permit until relations are more friendly. You are also welcome to defect to either faction if you prefer.”  
  
“Defect?” the mech missing half his helm scowled. “Why would we do that?”  
  
“Some have chosen to do so. We do not hold it against them,” Starscream answered as he edged closer to Grimlock and further from Misfire, who looked like he could barely keep himself from hugging Starscream.  
  
“I legit do not care about factions anymore,” the mech with an abnormally large chin spoke up. He stretched his arms over his helm, flakes of what looked to be rust dripping from his armor. “I want to see a medic. I want fresh energon. I want a working set of washracks. And I want a clean berth.”  
  
“We can offer all of that,” Starscream said. It was a relief that these weren't Megatron fanatics.  
  
After the quote-unquote mutiny, the Decepticons could use all the hands they could get. Not to mention Grimlock could only benefit from garnering support.  
  
“Finally,” the large rotary said, pushing through all of his teammates to stomp past Starscream and Grimlock. “I've got grit in my articulators.”  
  
Krok, the leader, rolled his optics. “That impatient one is Spinister,” he said and turned to each of his team in return. “You already know Misfire. The others are Crankcase, Fulcrum, and Flywheels.” Crankcase being the one with only half a helm, Fulcrum he of the large chin, and Flywheels, the unfamiliar flyer.  
  
Jet engines announced Thundercracker and Skywarp's approach, which was better late than never as Starscream had pinged them the moment he'd learned of the new ship's arrival. His trinemates landed behind him and sure enough, Misfire wasted no time in tackling Skywarp to the ground, and Skywarp was too startled to warp out of the way.  
  
Starscream sighed and pinched his olfactory sensor. “Thundercracker will get you registered,” he said, waving toward his trinemate. “He'll tell you what bunk-space we have available and get you on the list for quarters.”  
  
Krok nodded. “Thank you.” He turned toward the rest of his team. “Get registered. Get rested. We'll worry about the W.A.P. later.” He paused, a note of humor entering his vocals. “Don't think anyone's gonna steal it.”  
  
Fulcrum laughed.  
  
Well. That went better than Starscream could have hoped. No arguments. No one trying to challenge Grimlock for leadership. No one pitching a fit because they weren't at war anymore. Hopefully, any further Decepticons arriving will go this easily.  
  
Starscream and Grimlock turned away, leaving Skywarp and Thundercracker to it. Registering new Decepticons was part of their duty. Though Cyclonus would have to be informed as well. He was in charge of duty shifts, and everyone was required to put in effort somewhere. Cybertron wasn't going to rebuild itself.  
  
“Lord Grimlock. Commander Starscream.”  
  
They paused, Starscream exchanging a look with Grimlock, and turned back toward the crew of the _Weak Anthropic Principle_. Most of them were crowded around Thundercracker while Skywarp tossed Misfire in a playful wrestle before the two of them took to the sky. It was Krok who had called out to them.  
  
“There is something you should know,” Krok said, lowering his vocals as he approached them. He glanced around and over his shoulder, as though fearing eavesdroppers. “Your message was heard far and wide. I've no doubt more Decepticons will be returning home.”  
  
Grimlock inclined his helm. “That was my intention.”  
  
“Yes, well, I'm not sure all Decepticons are going to be as glad about it as we were.” Krok folded his arms over his chestplate, for the first time looking uncomfortable. “The DJD heard it, too.”  
  
Starscream stiffened.  
  
Grimlock's visor darkened. “Who?”  
  
Krok's gaze flicked to Starscream before returning to Grimlock. “Ask your second there. I'm sure he's on their List. I just wanted to give you the warning. They heard, and they're coming.”  
  
“And I should, what, be afraid?” Grimlock asked.  
  
“Smart mechs would be. But who knows… you killed Megatron. Maybe that means you're strong enough.” Krok rolled his shoulders. “Or maybe that just got you bumped to the top of their List. I don't envy you that position.” He bowed and excused himself.  
  
Starscream's tank flipflopped. The DJD. How could he have forgotten about those monsters? He'd thought they were gone, maybe fell into a collapsing star somewhere, or were so far out of reach they couldn’t have heard the call. No one had seen or heard from them since the Ark crashed into Earth. Communication had been so spotty afterward that connecting with Cybertron alone was a triumph.  
  
No one paid second thought to the other Decepticons scattered around the universe. They'd been too busy trying to stay fueled and find victory over the Autobots.  
  
Starscream should have known, however. The DJD were not the sort to take Megatron's silence as an excuse to shirk their duties and disband. They would have taken it as a sign they needed to be more diligent and protect Megatron's interest in his absence.  
  
He shivered, his plating clamped down tight. He'd only stayed off their list because Megatron took some sort of sick pleasure in dealing with Starscream himself. Tarn, however, had always come across as eager to teach Starscream a lesson or three. Megatron, however, was possessive.  
  
He was the only one allowed to give lessons.  
  
“Starscream?”  
  
He shook off the memories and looked up, clamping down on anything resembling fear. He did not fear those monsters. But he was wise to be cautious.  
  
“I'll explain,” Starscream said, pulling back on his field as well. “But not here. We don't want to cause a panic.”  
  
“A panic?” Grimlock's engine gave a rumble of amusement. “Are they sparkeaters? Are they giant scraplets? What kind of boogeyman would scare battle-hardened Decepticons?”  
  
“The worst kind. And they are Decepticons.” Starscream frowned and turned away, assuming his leader would fall in step beside him. “There are five of them. They are the Decepticon Justice Division, Megatron's personal team for behavior adjustment, by which I mean, they assassinate all transgressors in the most disturbing way possible.”  
  
“Autobots?”  
  
Starscream grimaced. “While they aren't opposed to killing Autobots, they were created to kill Decepticons, most notably those who had betrayed the cause or failed the cause or did anything that might cause destruction to the cause.” He scraped a hand down his face. “Their leader, Tarn, all but worshiped Megatron. If he's heading this way, I can imagine it is only for one purpose, to kill the mechs responsible.”  
  
They entered the command center but rather than turn Grimlock toward central command, Starscream turned him toward the office that had been designated for Grimlock's personal use. They didn't need this broadcast everywhere. By the limitations that Tarn devised, every Decepticon currently on Cybertron should be on his List, save those in the brig.  
  
They were all traitors to the cause by agreeing to a truce and agreeing to work alongside the Autobots.  
  
“You think I should be afraid.”  
  
Starscream shook his helm and looked up at Grimlock. “I think you should be cautious. Tarn is on par with Overlord and Sixshot except he doesn't have a kill code. He has the capability to kill you by talking to you. The others are no better.”  
  
“I did not fear Megatron. I will not fear his cronies.” Grimlock's vocals were firm, as was the shade of his visor. “I will deal with them when the time comes, but I won't let fear rule the present.”  
  
Stubborn Dinobot.  
  
Starscream gritted his denta. “Not everything can be solved with a punch to the face, you know.”  
  
“I am aware.” Grimlock's visor brightened, and he leaned closer, his field rubbing against Starscream's with warm intent. “But that is why I have a very intelligent second-in-command who is more than willing to help me devise a solution. I never intended to do this alone.”  
  
Starscream tried and failed to prevent that from making his spark flutter. How could a boorish Dinobot always know the right thing to say?  
  
Starscream chose to ignore him by keying in the code to Grimlock's office and gesturing for his leader to precede him. Here, in the relative privacy, they could speak freely.  
  
“We need to contact Prime, let him know of the new arrivals. With their addition, the Autobots are firmly outnumbered, and he may be concerned,” Grimlock said as he moved into the room, and Starscream followed.  
  
The door shut behind him, locking automatically.  
  
“As much as it pains me to admit it, I'm quite certain Prime is idealistic enough to trust you. It is the others who will need convincing,” Starscream said. “But I will contact them.” He made a mental note to speak with Krok further, to ensure he didn't spread information about the DJD.  
  
The last thing they needed was a mass exodus from Cybertron. Or for Metalhawk to gain some ammunition. But speaking of…  
  
“And Metalhawk?”  
  
Grimlock sat at his desk and rested his hand on top of it. “I'll tell him when we meet.”  
  
Starscream blinked and leaned against the front of the desk, staring at his leader. “Meet? What meeting?” He vaguely remembered something about Metalhawk from this morning, but they were both in a rush.  
  
“The one Metalhawk sent to me personally. He wants to discuss our quote-unquote relationship.” Grimlock's visor darkened, his field flickering a faint sense of distaste. “I suspect he's trying to build rifts between myself and Prime. It won't happen. But I can allow him to hope for it. And perhaps gain insight into what he hopes to accomplish.”  
  
Starscream's optics narrowed. “Were you not going to tell me?”  
  
“I only just now decided to go.” Grimlock shifted his weight. “I had been debating the benefits or lack thereof in attending.”  
  
“Well, of course you have to attend. Otherwise who knows what lies Metalhawk will make up in your absence.”  
  
“Mmm.” Grimlock cycled a ventilation. He reached across the desk, resting one of his hands over Starscream's, the most forward gesture he'd made since asking to court Starscream.  
  
He'd yet to give Grimlock an answer.  
  
“I'd have mentioned it sooner, but you do serve as a tempting distraction,” Grimlock said as he rubbed his thumb over the back of Starscream's hand. “Rest assured, however, I would not have made the decision without you.”  
  
Starscream snorted. “Even though I was not included in the invitation?”  
  
“Even though. Metalhawk may exclude you all he likes, but I won't keep secrets. I'm not Megatron.”  
  
Grimlock said that often, as though he felt Starscream needed to hear it. Though it was fairly obvious. Grimlock could be as confusing and irritating as Megatron, but that was where the similarities ended.  
  
“I'm aware.” Starscream smirked to hide the wriggle of unease that lingered in his tanks. Despite Grimlock's flippancy, the threat of the DJD could not be taken lightly. “So let's sit down and figure out how we're going to handle Metalhawk and Tarn.”  
  
“Business first,” Grimlock agreed and retracted his hand.  
  
Starscream told himself he did not miss that warmth.  
  


~

  
  
They met where they always did, on the bridge where Tailgate had first bravely approached Cyclonus to introduce himself. Tailgate, Cyclonus noticed, looked agitated. He kept glancing over his shoulder and twisting his fingers together, but his visor brightened upon sight of Cyclonus, and there was no mistaking the burst of joy in his field.  
  
“Do you have good news?” he asked, rocking back and forth on the struts of his pedes.  
  
Cyclonus lowered himself down to one knee, all the better not to loom. “I do. Your petition was approved. Both of them.”  
  
Tailgate tilted his helm. “Both?”  
  
Cyclonus cycled a ventilation and held out a hand, relieved when Tailgate did not hesitate to reach for him in return. He looked at Tailgate's hand, so small compared to his, and fingers so blunt next to Cyclonus' sharp talons. Tailgate's paint was scuffed as well, the marks of a working mech, a civilian.  
  
He still wondered how Tailgate managed to slip away from Nova Cronum and get into New Iacon on his own. The cities were connected by two main roadways, in severe disrepair as they were, but Metalhawk had optics on both gates out of Nova Cronum. And yet this minibot continued to elude him.  
  
Perhaps there was more to Tailgate than met the optic.  
  
“I forwarded your petition to Optimus Prime,” Cyclonus explained as he rested his other hand over Tailgate's. “He approved it as well.”  
  
“Optimus? The Autobots? But I thought….” Tailgate trailed off, hurt infecting his field, chasing away the joy.  
  
Cyclonus looked at Tailgate directly. He had vowed he would be honest. “We are better than we used to be, but the Decepticons as a whole, are still dangerous, and I would not see you hurt. At least in Polyhex under Optimus, you would be free of Metalhawk and you would be safe. Also, there are more opportunities for you to be whatever you wanted to be than we can offer here in New Iacon.”  
  
Tailgate huffed a ventilation. “I can take care of myself,” he retorted. He stomped a pede. “I've been doing fine so far. Besides, I don't know any of the Autobots. I know you.”  
  
“They're good mechs--”  
  
“I don't care about that,” Tailgate loudly insisted, overriding Cyclonus' patient explanation with more force than Cyclonus could have expected. “I want to be where you are.”  
  
Cyclonus blinked.  
  
_Oh._  
  
Tailgate cycled another loud ventilation, and he squared his shoulders, his tires quivering. “So unless you're defecting to the Autobots, too, then I'm going to be a Decepticon! At least until factions don't matter anymore.” He stared back at Cyclonus, defiant and determined.  
  
Maybe he could be a Decepticon after all.  
  
Cyclonus curled his lip in a gentle smile, still surprised that Tailgate could look at a mech as fearsome as himself and not be intimidated. “Very well. The choice, after all, is yours. I simply wanted you to know there was a safer option.”  
  
“If I cared about being safe I wouldn't be sneaking out of Nova Cronum to come here,” Tailgate said, but it was with a little laugh.  
  
Cyclonus squeezed his hand and gave Tailgate a wry look. “Speaking of which, how are you doing that? You don't strike me as the type to have been trained in special operations.”  
  
“Don't have to be.” Amusement danced in Tailgate's field, along with a hefty dose of pride. “No one ever pays attention to the waste lines. No one wants to and no one cares. And everything's connected.”  
  
“Clever.” Cyclonus squeezed Tailgate's hand once more and then released him, though not without a pang of reluctance. How odd. He looked down at the mech who would soon be a Decepticon. “Is there anything you need to retrieve from Nova Cronum?”  
  
Tailgate shook his helm and patted his chestplate. “I made sure to carry everything that matters with me. Never knew when I might have to disappear.”  
  
“What would make you think that?”  
  
Tailgate fiddled with his fingers, hunching down a little. “Metalhawk didn't want me to go. He tried to scare me with terrible stories and showed me all kinds of videos of things that the Decepticons had done during the war.”  
  
Cyclonus' spark tightened into a tiny ball. The war was not something either side could be proud of, not once they passed the point of no return. No doubt Metalhawk had chosen only the most shameful and frightening deeds.  
  
Which spoke a lot of Tailgate's character that he still chose to defect and still chose to meet Cyclonus here today.  
  
“He's planning something, I don't know what. I'm not in his inner circle,” Tailgate continued, tangling his fingers together. The inner edges of his field spiked with unease. “But I'm sure it's not good. He hates Autobots and Decepticons. He hates everyone.”  
  
Cyclonus worked his intake. “He showed you all those terrible images, and yet you still chose to defect?”  
  
Tailgate's visor slanted toward him. “We are the sum of our parts, not select images from history,” he said and then laughed. “I read that in a datapad somewhere. But it fits, right?”  
  
Another smile curved at Cyclonus' lip plate. “Yes, it would appear so.” He rose to his pedes and offered his hand to Tailgate. “Now, would you like to see your new home and meet your new leader?”  
  
Tailgate took his hand. “Yes for the home, though if you don't mind, I'd like to wait a little bit on meeting Lord Grimlock. I heard he was scary.”  
  
“But I'm not?” Cyclonus asked, more than a little amused as Tailgate's hand folded into his.  
  
Tailgate beamed up at him and bounced on his heel struts. “No. You're my friend.”  
  
“Yes, I am,” Cyclonus said.  
  
It was a notion both alien and strange, but somehow, he didn't want it any other way.  
  


***


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW and contains some of Starscream 'facing with Grimlock while he's in Dino-mode. If that is not to your taste, might want to skip the last NSFW bit after they have their serious conversation. :)
> 
> Song for this chapter: "Take Me Home," Jess Glynne

Grimlock did not like Metalhawk.   
  
There were pacifists among the Autobots, those who would prefer not to fight if given the choice, but every one of them still took up arms if the situation called for it. They still fought to protect their friends and fellow soldiers when push came to shove.   
  
Metalhawk had fled. He'd taken an army of similar-minded mecha and vanished into the depths of the universe, only returning when the battle was won. And then he had the audacity to demand that he and his ilk were the only ones deserving of a home.   
  
He had no right. None.   
  
Grimlock did not like Metalhawk. He did not like political posturing. And he especially did not like trying to play sneaky-spy games the like of which Jazz enjoyed thoroughly.   
  
He had not looked forward to this meeting. But neither could he turn it down. He had to know what Metalhawk was up to. He had to play along.   
  
Metalhawk didn't have to know that if it came down to it, Grimlock would side with Optimus. He and Optimus might not have been on the best of terms always, but he at least trusted that Optimus didn't have plans to line up every Decepticon and execute them.   
  
Metalhawk would do it with a smile on his high caste face.   
  
Metalhawk invited Grimlock to Nova Cronum for their meeting, but he wasn't stupid. He politely declined and suggested a more neutral location. After all, it wouldn't do for Optimus to suspect anything untoward, yes?   
  
So they met at the space bridge, which was the closest thing Cybertron had to a Neutral zone that didn't involve flying to another ruined city. Metalhawk was all smiles and welcome energy field as he met up with Grimlock, his arms folded behind his back.   
  
“Thank you for coming,” he said, with a rolling disingenuous purr that only fooled the foolish.   
  
Something he thought Grimlock to be.   
  
“Make quick,” Grimlock growled, pulling on the veil of stupidity. Let Metalhawk think he was nothing more than a brute who had won control of the Decepticons by virtue of being stronger, not smarter. “Me Grimlock busy.”   
  
“Of course. Of course. Aren't we all?” Metalhawk's smile did not lose its luster.   
  
He started to walk and Grimlock fell into step beside him. Metalhawk was not that much shorter than he, but the flyer was all limbs and angles. He was no threat physically, but there was a sly wit behind his optics.   
  
He reminded Grimlock a bit too much of Starscream, but not in a good way.   
  
“I won't take up too much of your time then,” Metalhawk continued, carefully picking his way across the ground. “I am concerned, Grimlock. Concerned that Optimus Prime may be trying to circumvent the terms of the treaty we all agreed upon.”   
  
Grimlock's visor narrowed into a flat line. What on Cybertron was Metalhawk talking about? It didn't make a lick of sense.   
  
“Him Optimus too stupid honorable to do that,” he countered.   
  
“Yes, well, he might be, but we all know that there are others behind the scenes who are more likely to pull the strings. A certain saboteur responsible for bringing down Megatron comes to mind.” Metalhawk slanted him a knowing look, as though they shared a secret. “I only want to be certain we are all on the same page.”   
  
Grimlock grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He wanted Metalhawk to dig his own grave.   
  
“I thought you might agree.” Metalhawk nodded and continued with very little prompting on Grimlock's part. He certainly liked to hear himself talk. “After all, it has come to my attention that one of my own has already petitioned to join your faction. Isn't it curious that no one has expressed any interest in joining the Autobots?”   
  
“Him Tailgate,” Grimlock said.   
  
“Yes. I am going to approve the petition. I never had any intention of doing otherwise,” Metalhawk replied. “I'm afraid there may have been some confusion between your third and myself.”   
  
Confusion, Grimlock's aft.   
  
“Him Cyclonus protective,” Grimlock said. “Me Grimlock talk to him Cyclonus.”   
  
Metalhawk lifted a hand, waving it dismissively. “Oh, don't worry. I didn't take any offense. I simply wanted you to understand I bear no ill will.”   
  
“You Metalhawk get to point,” Grimlock said with a bit of a growl. “What you want?”  
  
“Ah. A mech who wastes no time. I understand.” Metalhawk gave him a conspiratorial look. “The truth is Grimlock, I think there is an advantage that can be found for us if we formed a partnership.”   
  
Grimlock cycled a ventilation, trying to conceal his irritation. “Treaty signed already. What else to do?”   
  
“Ensure equal treatment for all, of course.” Metalhawk's smile widened, displaying his neat and even denta. “Have I mentioned how relieved I am that you are now the leader of the Decepticons? Megatron proved unwilling to cooperate with even the slightest consideration for others, but you… you are a great improvement.”   
  
Grimlock grunted.   
  
Metalhawk said a lot, without actually saying anything at all. Was he trying to get Grimlock to agree to some kind of private partnership that would circumvent the boundaries of the treaty?  
  
“Anyway, as I was saying, a partnership would be ideal for both of us. We can exchange resources.”   
  
“Already do that,” Grimlock said.   
  
Metalhawk waved again. “Yes, yes. I know. I meant, without the involvement of the Autobots.” He stopped and whirled toward Grimlock, but not without a conspiratorial look around them. “I fear they are not satisfied with the current treaty. There is a lot of discontent among them, specifically regarding the way you are handling the past actions of some of your troops.”   
  
“Grimlock not hear anything like that.”   
  
“Of course you wouldn't. Optimus knows they are outnumbered right now, but that doesn't mean there can't be accidents.” Metalhawk cycled his vocalizer loudly. “Not that I'm accusing anyone of wrongdoing, but you know, a mech never can be too careful.”   
  
Grimlock stared at Metalhawk. He could discern the mech's intentions now.   
  
Metalhawk hoped to sow distrust between the Autobots and Decepticons until they destroyed each other. This meeting, in fact, was probably one of his moves. All he needed was for someone to report back to Optimus that Grimlock and Metalhawk had met in secret.   
  
Pfft.   
  
Little did Metalhawk know but neither of them were so easily manipulated.   
  
“Me Grimlock very careful,” he said. “Me Grimlock know better than trust anyone.”   
  
Metalhawk released a soft chuckle. “Of course you do.” He inclined his helm. “For your sake and for that of your soldiers, correct?”   
  
“Me Grimlock not understand.”   
  
“Well...” Metalhawk looked sideways, as though sharing some coy secret. “Everyone knows how strong you are. It would be ludicrous to try and attack you, yes? But some of your subordinates are not as, hmm, well-defended?”   
  
Grimlock's engine rumbled before he could rein it in. That sounded like a threat. “What you Metalhawk mean?”   
  
“Just that Optimus' third has a history of aiming for an army's weak spots.” Metalhawk shrugged dismissively. “Not saying that he'd do it, of course. We're at peace. We've signed a treaty. But I haven't survived this long without preparing for all eventualities. However, we seemed to have strayed from the original topic, haven't we?”   
  
Grimlock's distaste for Metalhawk grew. Not only was Metalhawk a simpering fool, but his casual condescending attitude grated on Grimlock's patience.   
  
“Me Grimlock not understand what you Metalhawk want,” Grimlock said, purposefully growling and ex-venting loudly. He shifted his weight, looming over Metalhawk.   
  
The Neutral wisely took a step back. “Let me explain,” he said, with that politician's smile. “I think an agreement would be beneficial to both of us. An understanding that in times of need, we can come to the aid of one another. We will freely share resources. We will have a direct line of communication in case there are any incidents. Et cetera.”   
  
In other words, Metalhawk wanted to form an alliance with Grimlock that excluded Optimus. Grimlock had no doubt Metalhawk would go to Optimus with the very same offer, planting seeds of dissent against the Decepticons. Except Optimus was not so stupid as to fall for this condescending act, so Metalhawk would have to use other methods, perhaps preying on the assaults the Autobots had endured under Megatron's rule.   
  
It would have been clever, if the Autobots and Decepticons had not solidified their own alliance before offering the treaty to the Neutrals.   
  
“Me Grimlock not decide now,” he replied and pulled his hands into fists before releasing them. “Me Grimlock need talk with him Starscream first.”   
  
Metalhawk nodded. “Yes. I understand. The mind behind the throne, so to speak.” His smile was almost blinding. “Well, allow me to offer you this then.” He pulled a datachip from an arm compartment and handed it over. “This is my private, personal comm. You can reach me at any time on it.”   
  
Grimlock accepted the tiny chip, pinching it between two fingers.   
  
“I hope to hear back from you soon,” Metalhawk said as he bowed his helm. “And that your reply is favorable. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”   
  
“Me Grimlock appreciate warning,” he replied.   
  
“You Grimlock are most welcome.” Metalhawk took a further step back, giving himself enough room to transform.   
  
Grimlock watched him go, resisting the urge to crush the datachip in his fist. It would have made him feel better, but the information on it was too valuable. He didn't know whether it actually contained Metalhawk's personal comm, or whether it had some clever virus buried in the coding. Either way, Grimlock would take it to Perceptor to look at, since he didn’t have a functioning science unit of his own.   
  
First things first, however, he wanted to discuss this with Starscream, and then contact Optimus Prime.   
  
It looked like Metalhawk had finally made his move.   
  


~

  
  
He had three meetings on his agenda today, all of them loathed tasks that he would have preferred avoiding if it at all possible.   
  
However, Cyclonus had agreed to take this position as Grimlock and Starscream's third and he couldn't ignore any task he was given, no matter how distasteful. It was his duty. He was, by unanimous voting among what was considered the command staff, the most fair and honorable of Decepticon leadership.   
  
They trusted him to make the right decisions. Therefore, the task of evaluating the imprisoned Decepticons for who would be allowed parole and who didn't have a chance in the Pit of being released, fell to Cyclonus.  
  
Some of these Cyclonus knew would never see the light of day again. They would never be genuinely remorseful, no matter how deeply Starscream buried them, or how far Grimlock threw the key. They would probably suffer a fate similar to what had befallen the phase shifters, memory wipe and spark imprisonment, unless Grimlock decided to be merciful and execute them.   
  
Still, Cyclonus was obligated to meet with them. He was obligated to give their petitions a scrap of his attention and inform them of their denial. Just as he was obligated to tell them why.   
  
It had been on Grimlock's insistence, actually. He didn't want the Decepticons to dissolve into a lawless group of Cybertronians. He wanted, eventually, for all three factions to co-exist, even assimilate. He knew it was far in coming, but every little bit counted. Every bit helped.   
  
In this, Grimlock was much like Megatron. He had grand ideas for the future. He had big plans and hopes.   
  
Maybe, hopefully, Cyclonus could dare believe that not only would Grimlock accomplish them, but he wouldn't lose his way in the process.   
  
This was a good start. Even if Cyclonus did find it an irritating task.   
  
He had four names on the list today: Shockwave, who insisted his scientific contributions were more valuable outside of the brig than in; Barricade, who tried to argue he was only following orders; Drag Strip, who complained that it was cruel and unusual punishment to keep him from a daily solvent bath; and Breakdown, the only one who held any promise of being released.   
  
Cyclonus opened the door to the brig, nodding to Grindcore who had recently been promoted in the wake of Horri-bull's “defection” to the Neutrals. Cyclonus hesitated to call it a defection, however, as all Horri-bull wanted was to be with Needlenose again, but Needlenose refused to join the Decepticons. A concession had to be made.   
  
Scourge stepped out of the main security room as Cyclonus approached, his expression grave, but then, that was average for Scourge. “More petition requests to be heard, I take it?” Cyclonus' second asked.   
  
Cyclonus cycled a ventilation. “Reluctantly, yes. I trust everyone has been well-behaved?”   
  
“You would be the first to know if they haven't.” Scourge fell into step beside him as they headed for the low-security cell block. These cells contained the mechs Cyclonus thought most likely to be eligible for release. “They've learned that belligerent behavior will not earn them a faster release.”   
  
Thank Primus for small favors.   
  
“Who do you want to see first?” Scourge asked.   
  
Cyclonus debated for a long moment before deciding on the sure bet, to start the rest of the evening off on a positive note. “Breakdown,” he said as he pulled a couple of datapads out of subspace. “If this goes well, you may have one less prisoner to monitor.”   
  
“I will look forward to that.”   
  
They stopped in front of Breakdown's cell. He'd been separated from Motormaster and Dragstrip. Cyclonus hoped keeping all three apart meant they would think for themselves. It worked in Breakdown's case, not so much his gestaltmates.   
  
Breakdown sat on the narrow berth, elbows braced on his knees, his optics fixed on the floor. He looked small and mournful, and didn't lift his gaze when they approached. Blue and white armor was scuffed, perhaps leftover from the first battle.   
  
Cyclonus watched him for another moment longer before he turned and kept going. “Bring him to the conference room,” he requested.   
  
“Yes, sir.”   
  
He wanted a moment to center himself, review his information, before speaking with Breakdown. Besides, a little anticipation could only help.   
  
A few minutes later, Scourge deposited Breakdown in a chair across from Cyclonus, his wrists shackled together, though honestly, Cyclonus didn't feel there was a need. Still, procedures were there for a reason. Scourge left, standing guard outside the door.   
  
Breakdown studied the table. “Are you here to deny my petition?”  
  
“No, I'm here to discuss it.” Cyclonus folded his hands on the table. “I understand you wish to be released under whatever restrictions we deem fit.”   
  
Breakdown hunched. “I don't want to be in prison anymore,” he said, gaze still focused on the table. “I just want a chance to be free.”  
  
“Even if it means leaving your gestalt-mates behind?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
Not a moment of hesitation. No love lost between them perhaps? Strange that Drag Strip would be so loyal to Motormaster, but not Breakdown. He wondered if that division had always been present or if it was a new thing.   
  
“Do you think you deserve to be released?”  
  
Breakdown fell silent. This would be the moment Cyclonus expected him to expand upon all the reasons he wanted freedom. He did not expect silence. Interesting.   
  
“I spoke with Mirage,” Cyclonus continued as he shuffled through the information on the datapad.   
  
Though 'spoke' was a strong word. He'd sent an official request through Soundwave, was bounced to Jazz, who informed him that Mirage was not available to be interviewed, but he would pass along any questions Cyclonus might have. Though he'd hated to play a game of comm tag, Cyclonus bowed to convention.   
  
Jazz took his questions, spoke with Mirage, and then contacted Cyclonus at a later time with the answers.   
  
“I have been informed that you were not party to any of the assaults he endured,” Cyclonus said as he found the proper file and opened it, re-skimming the contents. “Though you also did not attempt to stop them.”   
  
Breakdown shrank further into himself. “I'm only one mech,” he said, tone miserable. “I didn't have anywhere else to go. It was hard enough getting them to stop trying to encourage me.” His field leaked free, a nauseating mix of misery and fear.   
  
Cylonus tilted his helm and looked at the small grounder, who was rather meek for both a Decepticon and a Stunticon. “Why didn't you?” he felt compelled to ask, because the why was important here. “The opportunity was there, why didn't you take it?”   
  
“Because I didn't want to,” Breakdown said, his vocals glitched with static. “I mean, who'd want to do that? Frag someone who's bleeding disgust and misery and pain?” His shoulders hunched again, cuffs rattling as he worried his hands together. “I didn't even want to watch, but every time I left the room, Wildrider accused me of being an Autobot sympathizer.”   
  
Which, in Megatron's optics, was unacceptable. It would have invited punishment, or worse.   
  
Then again, the Stunticons were Megatron's favorite gestalt. Cyclonus doubted that Megatron would have done something to jeopardize that. Punishment would have been on the table. Breakdown would have suffered. But he would have still been useful.   
  
Was this where the division began in Menasor? Or had it always been there, seething beneath the surface? Curiouser and curiouser.   
  
Cyclonus set down the datapad with a light click. Breakdown flinched.   
  
“There is a requirement that you work,” Cyclonus said as he studied the other mech. “You are expected to contribute.”   
  
Breakdown's intake bobbed. “I don't have any skills,” he said, only to lift his helm and quickly amend with, “but I'm willing to learn!”   
  
Something like discomfort wedged into Cyclonus' spark. There was a painful earnesty to Breakdown's words. If it was carefully crafted, then he was a superb actor. If it wasn't, well, that spoke of things which concerned Cyclonus.   
  
Perhaps he needed to speak with Shockwave about how Menasor came into being. But for now, he would do right by this one.   
  
  
“What are you interested in?”   
  
Breakdown fidgeted. His faceplate heated. “I once thought about being a medic,” he suggested tentatively. “But that's not what a Stunticon is for,” he added with a new air of misery.   
  
“As luck would have it, we are in need of medics,” Cyclonus said, his decision made. “That is, if you are interested in receiving the proper training.”   
  
Breakdown's optics widened. “I… would be allowed?”   
  
“Provided you follow the terms of your release, yes.” Cyclonus rose to his pedes and circled the table, reaching for Breakdown's wrists to unlock the shackles. “You will be monitored closely. There are no second chances. If you pose a threat at any point, you will return to the brig. Do you understand?”   
  
Breakdown nodded, rubbing his plating where the shackles had left scrapes in paint already thoroughly scratched. “I do. I, um, thank you. For giving me a chance.”   
  
“If we can endure a Dinobot as our new leader, I think giving you a chance is no real risk,” Cyclonus said and gestured for Breakdown to rise. “Come along. I'll have Grindcore escort you out and get you prepped for probation.”   
  
Breakdown's field all but sang with delight. “Thank you. I promise I won't let you down.”   
  
“See that you don't.”   
  
Cyclonus only wished that the others would be so cooperative. But he knew better.   
  
It would be a long afternoon.   
  


~

  
  
It wasn't the first time Starscream had come to Dinobot Central, but it certainly felt like it. This felt different than all the other times.   
  
He had the codes, but he pinged for entrance anyway. He and Grimlock hadn't discussed boundaries between personal time and business time. He supposed that would have to be a conversation relatively soon.   
  
The door opened to reveal Snarl, who peered down at Starscream, his armor fluffed out as though in challenge. “What you want?” he demanded.   
  
Starscream refused to be intimidated. “To speak with Grimlock. I know he's here.”   
  
“You Snarl let him Starscream inside!” Grimlock's bellow echoed from within the suite. “And you Snarl be polite or me Grimlock tell him Wheeljack!”   
  
Snarl, well, snarled, his armor fluttering aggressively. “Him Grimlock tattle-tale,” he grumbled, but he stepped aside, waving Starscream in. “You jet not touch anything,” he added.   
  
Intimidated was officially the least of what Starscream felt. Amusement settled in. They really were, in some ways, like sparklings. Grimlock was obviously the eldest and the most intelligent, but in many ways, yes, they were like sparklings. Adult sparklings.  
  
“Perhaps you should tell your leader that,” Starscream retorted with a wink toward Snarl who actually heated around the edges of his faceplate.   
  
Less belligerent, more adorable now.   
  
Starscream smirked and entered Dinobot Central, taking a look around.   
  
Slag wasn't here, Starscream noticed. Swoop was, however, and it was he who was snuggled up with Grimlock on the massive couch they had perched in front of the vidscreen. Even as Starscream watched, Snarl returned to the couch and threw himself down in next to Swoop who squawked in irritation.   
  
“You Snarl always act clumsy!” the flyer said as he bopped the larger Dinobot on the shoulder.   
  
“You Swoop just too small,” Snarl retorted, obviously a tease as he grinned.   
  
Grimlock turned his helm. “You going to join us, Starscream?”   
  
“And dent my wings? Primus forbid.”   
  
Starscream approached the couch, standing behind it as he looked at the screen. They were watching some kind animated film from Earth, as far as Starscream could tell. Pfft. Human entertainment.   
  
“Him Starscream afraid of scratches,” Swoop commented with a loud chortle. He looked over Grimlock's shoulder at Starscream and winked. “Him Starscream too dignified to cuddle.”   
  
Grimlock released a rolling laugh. “That may be true, Swoop.”   
  
Starscream rolled his optics. “I did come here for a reason, you know.”   
  
“Him Grimlock say he off shift right now,” Snarl said with the air of a petulant child.   
  
“I did say that,” Grimlock said with a thoughtful hum.   
  
Starscream leaned against the back of the couch, his lips inches from Grimlock's audial. “This isn't about work, but a certain question you asked of me.” His spark beat a little faster, a mix of anticipation and dread.   
  
He'd given Grimlock's offer a lot of thought, all the while already knowing what his answer would be. All he had to do was work past his own fears, however ridiculous they were.   
  
“I see.” Grimlock patted Swoop on the knee. “Keep my spot warm, Swoop. I'll be back.”   
  
Swoop laughed. “No, you won't.”   
  
Grimlock chuckled and pushed himself to his pedes as Starscream straightened as well. “That depends,” he replied with a long look at Starscream. “You Snarl leave remote alone,” he added.   
  
The large Dinobot harrumphed but didn't argue. He waved Grimlock away, even as Swoop shifted his snuggle from the spot Grimlock abandoned, over to Snarl, who didn't once protest the new warmth at his side.   
  
The spark of the team indeed.   
  
“You do have a private room?” Starscream said with a raised orbital ridge as he followed Grimlock toward an adjoining hallway.   
  
“No. We Dinobots sleep in a huge cuddling nest,” Grimlock retorted, entirely deadpan. But his field flicked out, warm with humor and something else on the edges, something that Starscream couldn't interpret.   
  
Starscream huffed a ventilation. “I wouldn't be surprised if you did.”   
  
Grimlock snickered.   
  
The new hallway was long with multiple doors, but Grimlock passed them all, heading for the far one on the end. Starscream assumed these others belonged to the rest of the Dinobots, and noticed that most of the doors themselves were decorated with various pieces of Earth memorabilia.   
  
“I spoke with Metalhawk this morning,” Grimlock said as he shoved open the last door and gestured for Starscream to follow him inside.   
  
“Good for you,” Starscream replied as he edged into the room, which contained a workdesk, a large berth and another door opposite. Perhaps a second entrance into Dinobot Central. “But I meant it when I said I didn't come here to talk about work.”   
  
The door slid shut behind him, beeping and locking.   
  
Grimlock sat down on the edge of the berth and patted the surface next to him. “Sometimes, I don't know that there's a difference between the two for us.”   
  
Starscream sighed and scrubbed a hand down his faceplate. “Yes, we need to talk about that, too. But this first.”   
  
“All right.” Grimlock's gaze focused on him, and Starscream felt the weight of it. “You have my attention.”   
  
It should be easy.   
  
Starscream worked his intake and cycled a ventilation. This was the moment of truth. He felt at once cold and hot, and it shouldn't feel like he was making a life or death decision, but it did, and he couldn't quite figure out why.   
  
But it felt right and that was more important than anything else.   
  
He paced back and forth, the silence swelling between them. He thought he knew what he wanted to say, but the words flew out of his processor.   
  
Grimlock shifted on the berth. “You do know that no matter what your answer is, I will still continue to treat you with the courtesy and respect you deserve, right?”  
  
Starscream drew up short and stared at him. “What's that supposed to mean? Of course I knew that.”   
  
“I'm not sure you do.” Grimlock slid off the berth and approached Starscream, gently laying his hands on Starscream's shoulders. “I'm not sure that you know you're allowed to say 'no.'”   
  
Starscream's optics narrowed. “Have you been talking to my trinemates?”   
  
“Should I have been?” Grimlock tilted his helm, honestly confused. “And I don't have to talk to anyone to make an educated guess.” His hands slid down Starscream's shoulders, his arms, to take his hands. “Megatron leaves quite the swath of destruction behind him.”   
  
Starscream scoffed. “That's an understatement. Have you looked around you? Cybertron is in ruins.”   
  
Grimlock leaned down, and his forehelm gently pressed to Starscream's own. “I was talking about you,” he said, in a soft tone Starscream had not known him capable. “I wish to court you, my second, best in flight, Air Commander Starscream. But if you want nothing more from me than the relationship we already have, feel free to say so. The choice is yours.”   
  
It should not have been such a novel concept.   
  
That it was sent an ache of longing through Starscream's spark, and a ripple of some ill-defined emotion down his spinal strut.   
  
“And if I were to say yes?” Starscream asked, attempting to sound coy, but failing when it came out just short of breathless.   
  
Grimlock's thumb rubbed across his palm. “Then we'll both see how much I've learned from the books Thundercracker loaned me.”   
  
Starscream couldn't help himself. He laughed. “I knew you'd been speaking to my trine.”   
  
“Only about Vosian customs. Nothing pertaining to my predecessor.” Grimlock lifted his helm and pressed it against the side of Starscream's, his facemask instituting a slow slide against Starscream's audial. “Is that permission?”  
  
Starscream shivered, heat pulsing through his frame. “Yes,” he said, his glossa sweeping over his lips. “I'll allow you this opportunity to impress me.”   
  
Grimlock's engine purred. He squeezed Starscream's hands. “I can start tonight if you like.” A hint of mischief colored his words.   
  
“With your brothers in the next room? Have you an exhibitionist streak I should worry about?” Starscream challenged.   
  
Grimlock laughed as he took a step back, tugging on Starscream's hands to urge him to come along. Not that it took much urging. Heat made a steady path through Starscream's lines. His spark fluttered.   
  
“If it bothers you, I can stop,” Grimlock said.   
  
Again with the courtesy. It boggled the mind.   
  
“I never said it did,” Starscream retorted. He startled when Grimlock abruptly spun him around, picked him up and deposited him on the berth in one smooth move.   
  
Unicron take him! He swore Grimlock did that on purpose, showing off how much larger and stronger he was. And no, Starscream absolutely did not squeak.   
  
“Good.” Grimlock purred and worked his way between Starscream's thighs.   
  
Starscream toppled backward, the berth just wide enough to keep his helm from hitting the wall on the opposite side. His knees and legs hung off the edge of the berth. A visor gleamed back at him, dark with arousal, as Grimlock's hands landed on his thighs and pushed them further apart, baring Starscream's modesty panel to his unrelenting gaze.   
  
Another shiver drizzled down Starscream's backstrut.   
  
“Is admiring part of the courtship ritual?” he asked.   
  
“I don't see why it can't be,” Grimlock replied as his hands slid inward, thumbs brushing over Starscream's modesty panel. “Will you open for me?”   
  
So many questions. Always with the questions.   
  
Starscream worked his intake and manually triggered his panels to open, valve spiraling into view and spike peeking from its sheath. He was only moderately aroused, a dribble of lubricant forming in his valve as his spike peeped forward.   
  
His ventilations caught in his intake as Grimlock swept a light touch over his interface array. Fingers traced the rim of his valve before flirting over the head of his spike, coaxing it free.   
  
“I wonder,” Grimlock said, his voice a rocky rumble. “Do you trust me?”   
  
Starscream's optics widened. “What kind of question to ask is that when you're standing there with my panels open?” he demanded, though instead of a spike of fear, one of thrill went through his field.   
  
“A relevant one.” Grimlock stroked his spike, thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling the sensitive crown of it. “I've a mind to taste you.”   
  
“You don't have a mouth.”   
  
A visor gleamed at him. “Not in this form, I don't.”  
  
Starscream's fingers tangled in the berth cover, one that he belatedly realized was not of Cybertronian construction, but made of Earthen materials. It was soft and pliant and… why was he thinking about blankets?   
  
Grimlock had made him an offer. Grimlock wanted to… to…  
  
His fingers stroked the rim of Starscream's valve again, the delicate touches doing much to ramp Starscream's arousal, drawing light pearls of lubricant.   
  
“You can say no. I've plenty of other ideas, but this one--”  
  
“Yes,” Starscream said, interrupting him, the word nearly a moan. He rolled his hips upward, spike jutting for attention. “Yes, I trust you, damn it. Just do it.”   
  
Grimlock gently rubbed his anterior node and Starscream's hips jerked. Pleasure rang through his frame as he grabbed at the berth covers, twisting his fingers in the blanket.   
  
And then Grimlock backed off, taking two steps away from the berth. He audibly cycled a ventilation. The sound of a transformation filled the berthroom, a different tone than that of the average Cybertronian, before Grimlock fell apart and twisted back together, and a massive beast-mode mech loomed over Starscream. It was an almost terrifying reminder of how much mass Grimlock subspaced. He was so much larger than Megatron, and the gleam of the beast-mode's optics seemed all the more baleful now that he was looking down at Starscream laying on the berth, his legs open and inviting.   
  
But Grimlock leaned forward, his massive helm nudging between Starscream's thighs, ex-venting a heavy and hot burst against his exposed array. Starscream shivered.   
  
“Tell me to stop,” Grimlock growled at him as he cycled another ventilation, puffing more heat over Starscream's quivering components.   
  
He tossed his helm and stared back at Grimlock, challenging him. “Get on with it,” Starscream said instead and shoved a hand down between his legs. He pushed his knees as far as his hip joints would allow and parted the pleats of his valve. “Or I'll take care of myself.”   
  
Grimlock chuckled and nudged the end of his muzzle against Starscream's bared array. “Can't have that.” He opened his mouth, baring sharp denta that would have made a Decepticon proud.   
  
Anticipation made Starscream's spark beat faster. His spike throbbed. Lubricant seeped from his valve.  
  
The first touch of a large, warm glossa against his array made him moan. His optics flickered, and he canted his hips upward, panting through his denta as another wet swipe made him tingle. He jerked his fingers away as the flat plane of Grimlock's glossa pressed against his valve with a delicious pressure.   
  
Starscream sucked in a vent. He fisted the covers, thrusters spitting fire at the floor as his valve pulsed more lubricant. His spike kept catching the tail end of Grimlock's glossa flick, and it throbbed for attention.   
  
“Don't be a tease!” he snapped.   
  
“Not teasing,” Grimlock retorted, every damp ex-vent another caress to Starscream's array.   
  
His external node throbbed. His valve cycled down on nothing.   
  
Grimlock licked him again, each long and heavy lap of his glossa like sweet torture. Starscream's hips rocked of their own accord, his legs trembling from the effort of keeping himself so open. Energy crackled through his array, the obscene nature of the moment only making him more aroused.  
  
His vents clicked on, roaring at max. His valve throbbed, eager for something to fill it. His spike steadily leaked pre-transfluid, each new dribble lapped up by the tip of Grimlock's glossa. The Dinobot ex-vented from his oral cavity, each wet and warm vent driving Starscream's arousal higher and higher.   
  
His hips moved of their own accord. He had to fight the urge to reach down and stroke himself. Grimlock's glossa was on his anterior node now, fat and heavy licks that built a keen in the back of Starscream's intake.  
  
His frame trembled, his ventilations coming in sharper bursts. His valve clenched down on nothing before Grimlock's glossa returned to it, one long lap and then a wet push of his glossa. The tip eased into Starscream's valve and he moaned, long and low, as overload struck him all at once.   
  
His backstrut arched, pleasure sparking blue-white fire over his armor. His spike spurted a long strip of transfluid up his abdominal armor even as his valve spiraled down, struggling to cycle on nothing. Lubricant flowed freely, soaking the berth, before Starscream collapsed back, the ripples of pleasure making him twitch.   
  
Grimlock's glossa retreated though Starscream ached for more. Condensation gathered on his armor, and the room was thick with the scent of ‘facing.   
  
“Is that it?” Starscream demanded, his vocals laced with static.   
  
Grimlock chuckled and licked a long stripe across Starscream's valve and up the length of his spike, gathering lubricant and transfluid all at once. “Not hardly,” he said and stepped back.   
  
The sound of transformation filled the room as Grimlock returned to root mode, his visor a gleam of hunger and static crawling across his armor. His panels popped open, spike immediately pressurizing into view and dripping pre-fluid. He grabbed Starscream's thighs, grip strong and sure, and wasted no time in plunging into Starscream's valve, bottoming out in the space of a sparkbeat.   
  
Starscream gasped, spinal strut arching, as his valve instantly spiraled down, relief spreading through his array. His calipers rippled, cinching tight, eagerly latching onto Grimlock's spike.   
  
“I take it you liked the taste?” Starscream managed, though his dignity was lying somewhere between the puddle beneath his aft and the instant repressurization of his spike.   
  
Grimlock gripped Starscream's hips, holding him fast against Grimlock before he abruptly lifted Starscream, as always showing off how much stronger he was. Starscream scrambled to get a hold of him as he felt himself lifted off the bed, his thighs and legs clamping around Grimlock's waist.   
  
“Show off,” he grumbled.   
  
Grimlock chuckled and spun around, planting his aft on the berth and Starscream in his lap. “Just admit that you like it and stop posturing.”   
  
“I don't posture,” Starscream said with a huff, one that devolved into a moan as Grimlock's hands slid from his hips to his wing joints.   
  
Thick, powerful fingers nudged at the strong joints and then spread outward, stroking the planes of his wings and tracing the edges.   
  
Starscream shivered. His fingers curled against Grimlock's chestplate, hooking in the seams. This position gave Grimlock no leverage at all, which meant it was up to Starscream to do all the work. Or to deny Grimlock pleasure of his own.   
  
For once, Starscream wasn't interested in being so cruel.   
  
He rocked forward, rolling his hips, minute motions that squeezed down on Grimlock's spike. Charge flickered back and forth between their respective receptor and sensory nodes. This wasn't a hard, fast fragging. But a slow, deliberate one and the idea of it sent another shiver up Starscream's spinal strut.   
  
It was… intimate, he realized. The most intimate they had ever been despite countless sessions of fragging on tables and against walls and bent over berths and chairs and desks. It was further proof that Grimlock meant to court him, meant to make something genuine out of what had started on a whim.   
  
Starscream honestly didn't know what to do with that. He felt his faceplate burn, and knew it wasn't entirely arousal to blame, or the heat pouring off of Grimlock. The Dinobot shook, struggling to stave off his overload, his vents spilling heat into the air.   
  
“This okay?” Grimlock asked, static lining his vocals.   
  
Starscream stared at him. “You always ask me that.”   
  
Grimlock's hands stroked down his back, up and down, between his aft and his wing joint. “Why wouldn't I?”   
  
Starscream's optics narrowed. “Because it should be obvious.”   
  
“Doesn't mean I can't ask,” Grimlock said in that oftentimes painfully stubborn tone of his. But then he tilted his helm and huffed a laugh. “Maybe I'm just looking for feedback.”   
  
Starscream's lips quirked toward a smirk. “On your performance?” he asked with a raised orbital ridge. He circled his hips and felt Grimlock jerk beneath him, spike throbbing faster. “I should think the mess on the berth is all the grade you need.”   
  
“Verbal confirmation is acceptable as well.” Grimlock dropped a hand to Starscream's hip and rocked upward, his spike grinding on Starscream's ceiling node.   
  
Pleasure sent charge zipping through Starscream's sensory net. He swallowed thickly and rolled his hips down, his calipers rippling around Grimlock's spike.   
  
“You want me to list all the ways,?” Starscream asked as he curled an arm over Grimlock's shoulders, giving himself leverage to raise his aft up and down.   
  
Grimlock's spike felt gloriously thick within him, as always challenging the stretch of his calipers and stimulating all his sensory nodes. The rounded bulge at the base rubbed against Starscream's anterior node when Grimlock bottomed out, sending electric shocks of pleasure through Starscream's array.   
  
“Want me to tell you all the ways you make me hot?” Starscream purred as he looked directly into Grimlock's visor, catching and holding his lover's gaze. “Is that what you're looking for?”   
  
“I want to hear you sing,” Grimlock said, his vocals a dark rumble that seemed to resonate in his chest and vibrate against Starscream's own. His fingers tickled at Starscream's wing hinge again as he thrust upward, in faster and faster increments.   
  
Starscream ventilations caught. He tried and failed to come up with something else smart to say, but it was lost in a gasp, a pulse of pleasure that rippled throughout his entire frame. Their armor slid together, a whisper of friction, and the heat emanating from Grimlock seemed to soak into Starscream.   
  
He could feel it again already, overload creeping around the corner. His valve cycled endlessly, his spike throbbed where the tip rubbed against Grimlock's abdomen.   
  
Focus dissolved. All that mattered was the movement of their frames, the desperate push toward overload. Grimlock's frame rumbled. Starscream's vents spun faster and faster. His grip around Grimlock's shoulder tightened as he lifted and dropped himself, rolling his hips on each downward plunge.   
  
Charge sparked along his nodes. Grimlock pulled him closer, until their frames pressed together, no space between them. Starscream's spike was trapped, rubbing endlessly against Grimlock's armor, but more disarming was the way Grimlock held his gaze. The way his hands continued to stroke and tease, holding Starscream as though he were something to value.   
  
That, in itself, was what broke him.   
  
The second overload stripped away his senses. His vision went white, his audials glitched. All he knew was the pleasure coursing through his lines, throbbing through his spark. He dimly heard Grimlock reach his own overload, felt the clenching of the Dinobot's grip on his waist and wing, but it was secondary to his own high.   
  
Starscream came down slowly, his fans spinning at max, his vents struggling to pull in cooler air. He slumped forward, forehelm hitting Grimlock's shoulder, and then yelped as Grimlock tilted back, and he had to unhook his legs at the last second. This left him sprawled on top of Grimlock, the Dinobot's arms wrapped around him.   
  
Grimlock trembled beneath him, the tiny tremors of a mech who had greatly enjoyed his overload. Or maybe it was because his vents roared and his engine rumbled loud enough to vibrate the berth.   
  
_Primus._   
  
“Well,” Starscream said with a wheezing vent. He didn't have the wherewithal to lift his helm from Grimlock's chestplate. “You're off to a good start so far,” he said.   
  
Grimlock chuckled. His hands lifted, forming gently stroking patterns up and down Starscream's back and wings. “But I still have a long way to go,” he said, one hand slid down the curve of Starscream's aft so that his fingers could tease at the rim of Starscream's valve. He was still half-pressurized within Starscream, and his valve was plump and moist around the thick spike.   
  
Starscream tried and failed to swallow down his moan. His spike, trapped between their bodies, twitched in interest.   
  
He no longer cared if anyone could hear him or not. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so good, or felt so relaxed.   
  
“Too much longer and you'll offline me,” Starscream said as he struggled to push himself upright, to push his hips down toward Grimlock's curious fingers.   
  
“Are you telling me to stop?” Grimlock asked. His fingers paused, waiting, his field rising up and rolling over Starscream.   
  
“You'll know when I tell you to stop,” Starscream retorted and managed to rock his hips, squeezing down with his valve. “Keep going, Dinobot.”   
  
Grimlock chuckled. He started stroking Starscream's valve rim again, fingers playing in the lubricant and transfluid mix seeping around the edges. “Whatever you want.”   
  
He said it so often, and for the first time, Starscream dared to believe he meant it.  
  


****


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I Started a Joke," Version from the Suicide Squad Trailer

Was this Grimlock's idea of a joke? Because it was absolutely not funny.  
  
Knock Out folded his arms over his chestplate and glared at the massive Dinobot standing in the doorway that separated the patient rooms from the medbay proper.  
  
“You'll have to repeat yourself,” Knock Out said coolly. “Why are you here?”  
  
“Me Snarl need maint-an-ence check,” the Dinobot said, enunciating carefully. He grinned at Knock Out, all denta. “And then, see if you Knock Out need help. Him Grimlock say me Snarl need make friends.” The odd, triangular protrusions jutting from his shoulders wriggled as if in glee.  
  
It did not compute.  
  
Knock Out narrowed his optics and turned away, dropping his arms. “Don't you go to Ratchet for your check-ups?” And hadn't they just gone to see Ratchet last week?  
  
He suspected an ulterior motive. He did not know what ulterior motive a Dinobot could possibly have in the medbay, but he still suspected one.  
  
“Him Mama Ratchet busy,” Snarl said as he came inside, though Knock Out hadn't invited him. “And we on same team now.”  
  
Knock Out snorted and grabbed his buffer again. There was a spot on his arm that still needed attention, even if there was a Dinobot-sized distraction present.  
  
“You don't need a check up. You're in perfect repair,” Knock Out said as he tended to the scratch on his arm with an intensity he usually reserved for surgery. But this was important. He had to look his absolute best.  
  
“Maybe not know. Maybe need you Knock Out check,” Snarl retorted with that irreverent stubbornness that Knock Out was convinced was a trait to Dinobots and Dinobots alone. “What this do?”  
  
Knock Out turned to look just as Snarl picked up a scanner from a nearby cabinet, turning the delicate piece of equipment over and over in his clumsy, oafish Dinobot hands.  
  
Knock Out's buffer clattered to the table as he stalked over to Snarl and snatched it away.  
“Put that down. You'll break it,” he huffed, and inspected the device for dents or scratches, surely a consequence of being Dino-handled.  
  
“Me Snarl not broke stuff in long time,” Snarl insisted with a huff. “Except stuff me Snarl told to break.”  
  
“Yes, well, I'll believe that when I see it.” Satisfied it wasn't damaged, Knock Out set the scanner carefully back into place with all the others, each of which served a different purpose. “This equipment isn't that easily replaced, you know. It's not like I can walk to the nearest store and pick up a new one.”  
  
“What you Knock Out do when broken?”  
  
“Try and find someone who can fix it, of course,” Knock Out said with a disdainful sniff. He stared at the Dinobot, who appeared here to stay. “Not that there's anyone around here capable of doing that anymore.”  
  
Snarl edged closer to the table and looked at another piece of equipment, though this time it was without touching it. “Me Snarl do it. Me fix stuff.”  
  
Knock Out arched an orbital ridge. “Really.”  
  
“It true. Give broken thing. Me Snarl prove it.”  
  
Knock Out eyed him for another moment and then turned to the bin of discarded things he'd been collecting. For the most part, if something broke, he tossed it in here. He knew, if he was desperate, he could go to the Constructicons. But he wanted to avoid that if at all possible. He didn’t want to be caught associating with one of those rapists, but more than that, he didn’t want to admit that he couldn’t do something. They taunted him for his lack of training enough as it was.  
  
Knock Out searched through the bin for something he actually needed rather than a mere challenge and finally produced an automatic flush pump. This would be a matter of convenience more than need, but if the Dinobot broke it more thoroughly, it wouldn't be a loss. It meant Knock Out would have to keep manually flushing systems.  
  
Or sending said patients to the Autobots for treatment. Ha! Make Ratchet do all the system flushes. Wouldn't that be the rust on the oilcake?  
  
Knock Out turned toward Snarl and offered him the automatic pump. “Go for it,” he said as Snarl plucked it from his hands and turned it over, examining it with more concentration than Knock Out would have given him credit.  
  
“What wrong with it?” Snarl asked as his frown deepened. He turned it over and over in his fingers, tracing seams and tapping on screws like he was counting them.  
  
Knock Out snorted. “Isn't that what you're supposed to tell me? You're the one who said you can fix it.”  
  
“Can and will.” Snarl stuck out a hand. “Tools?”  
  
“Do I look like an engineer?” Knock Out demanded, gesturing to his entire frame with one sweep of his hand. “You're on your own, pal.”  
  
“Won't be first time,” Snarl muttered and turned in a large circle, knocking over a stack of datapads that Knock Out rushed to rescue. “Find me own then.”  
  
Knock Out scowled in the Dinobot's general direction as he re-stacked the datapads and put them in their proper order. He felt the floor rumble as Snarl stalked across it, and then a screech as Snarl did something else. Knock Out whirled, prepped to deliver another scathing admonition, only to blink in surprise.  
  
Snarl had pulled out a stool, which creaked under his weight, and took up a perch at one of the work benches Knock Out used when refurbishing a rare part. He was even, at this moment, digging through the littler drawers in the sides, pulling out tools and setting them on top of the desk.  
  
“Me Snarl will fix this,” he declared as Knock Out peered over his shoulder, watching as large and clumsy Dinobot fingers gently unscrewed panels and carefully removed them.  
  
He was… actually not half bad at this, Knock Out noticed. At least, he seemed to know what he was doing. There was focus and intent in his field as he took apart the automatic pump until it couldn't even be recognized as one. Then Snarl set his hands flat on the desk and stared hard at all the different parts.  
  
“Stuck?” Knock Out asked, expecting to feel triumphant, but actually ending up disappointed. Strange.  
  
Snarl revved his engine and then lifted a hand, selecting one part from the pile, not that Knock Out could tell you what it was or what it did. “This the problem,” he said as he held it up. “It broken.”  
  
“How do you know that?”  
  
Snarl shrugged. “Just know. Need new one.”  
  
Knock Out threw up his hands. “I don't even know what it is. How am I supposed to get you a new one?”  
  
Snarl, of all things, laughed at him, though it didn't feel the least bit mocking. “Then me Snarl fix.” He bent back over the assorted pieces again. “Will work. Not perfect. But work.”  
  
He again rummaged in the drawers of the desk, producing another fistful of odds and ends and tools of all shapes and sizes. Items Knock Out hadn't even realized were in there because he'd inherited this medbay. Though he supposed it made sense that the Constructicons would have tools lying around.  
  
The outer door chimed.  
  
Knock Out turned away from Snarl. “I'll be right back,” he said. He considered tacking on a warning but 'don't break anything' and 'don't touch anything' didn't seem relevant, so he left it at that and headed out the door, into the receiving area. The room Snarl had seemed to take as a suggestion when he appeared in the doorway of the actual medbay.  
  
There was a Stunticon standing just inside the doorway, enough that he was considered inside and the door could shut, and doing an effective imitation of a speed bump. His paint was dull and scraped, his shoulders hunched, his optical band dim. He clutched at his fingers nervously, but perhaps the most important detail was that his Decepticon brand had been slashed through.  
  
“Aren't you supposed to be in prison?” Knock Out demanded as he planted his hands on his hips. Though he wondered why an escaped prisoner would have made a beeline for the medbay.  
  
There was no way the mech could take down Knock Out, much less a concussed minibot. He wasn't going to get far.  
  
“Not anymore?” the Stunticon offered, though he sounded unsure. Knock Out couldn't remember which one this was. They all looked the same, except for their boorish leader. “I was released.”  
  
“On good behavior?” Knock Out snorted and his plating fluffed out. “Imagine that, a Stunticon behaving.” He didn't know what Megatron was thinking when he stuck that sorry lot together, but they were a mess, and that was putting it kindly.  
  
Oh, they behaved for Megatron and when Megatron was looking. But outside of that, they were an unruly nightmare for any mech trying to keep a clean, neat paintjob. They'd sideswiped Knock Out more than once, and Megatron never seemed to care that they raced through the halls at Mach Twenty.  
  
“Who let you out?” Knock Out demanded because he was sure as slag going to get confirmation of this. He did not want to get on the bad side of their new Dinobot leader.  
  
“Lieutenant Cyclonus.” The Stunticon still hadn't moved, and now his fingers tangled together, tight enough to stress the metal. His field was a bleak, tattered thing.  
  
He was kind of pitiful actually. Knock Out started to feel like he was barking at a sparkling or something of equal challenge. Which was more than a little odd as the Stunticons had never come across as meek. Why now? Was it an act?  
  
“I have orders. To prove it,” the Stunticon offered. He lurched forward, a clumsy half-step, and produced a datapad.  
  
Knock Out narrowed his optics but took the datapad, keying it on. Sure enough, there were release orders for the Stunticon – Breakdown was his designation – on here, along with the parameters of his assignment. His parole had been assigned to the medbay, under Knock Out's purview, where he was to… to…  
  
Knock Out groaned.  
  
Was this some kind of joke? Two in one day? What was their glorious leader thinking? Not only did he have a new pet Dinobot in his medbay, but he was supposed to look after some meek, shaking Stunticon? What had they done? Poked needles into his processor until he behaved the way they wanted him to?  
  
Knock Out would have expected that kind of thing from Megatron, but he thought Grimlock was a different kind of leader. Then again, some of the mechs in the brig right now were never going to change without a little… help. Was Breakdown the trial run?  
  
He handed the datapad back to the Stunticon who clutched it as though it was his lifeline. Knock Out eyed the mech who was barely larger than himself and was in no condition to be spending any amount of time around Knock Out, much less than in a medbay.  
  
“You want to be a medic?” he asked.  
  
“… Maybe?” Breakdown replied.  
  
Knock Out snorted again. “You don't sound very sure. Do you want to be or not?”  
  
Breakdown shrugged. “I do, but whether or not I can...”  
  
Knock Out waved a dismissing hand. “I didn't ask if you could but if you wanted to. It's a matter of trying. But whatever. Come on then.” He spun on a heelstrut and started toward the medbay proper, but didn't hear the sound of the Stunticon following him.  
  
He stopped and half-turned. “Are you coming or not?”  
  
Breakdown blinked at him. “Just like that?”  
  
“No, not just like that. I'm not letting you touch so much as a scanner in your current condition,” Knock Out retorted with a huff of ventilation. One finger jabbed in the direction of the Stunticon’s dirty paint. “Bad enough I got a Dinobot at my work desk, I'm not about to let a filthy Stunticon drop dirt all over my floors.”  
  
Breakdown's optics narrowed. “I'm not that dirty.”  
  
“To my standards, you are.” Knock Out gestured over his shoulder and started toward the door again. “Hurry up if you're coming. I don't know what makes you think I'm chockful of free time, but I'm not.”  
  
This time, he did hear the sound of Breakdown following him, though he didn't have an ounce of pep in his step. If anything, he dragged his pedes as though Knock Out intimidated him. Which was absurd. Of everything in the medical bay, Knock Out was one of the least intimidating occupants.  
  
Unless, of course, it was his stunning good looks that made Breakdown feel inferior in which case, well, Knock Out couldn't fault him for that.  
  
Back in the medical bay proper, Snarl was still hunched over the broken fuel pump but now he was putting it back together into its component parts. Behind Knock Out, Breakdown stopped in the doorway, staring in Snarl's general direction.  
  
“Oh, don't mind him. He wants to be a medic, too,” Knock Out said with a flippant wave. “Come on. You're contaminating my medbay.”  
  
Breakdown shuffled after Knock Out, using the widest berth possible to avoid Snarl who hadn't even noticed him yet.  
  
Knock Out shook his helm.  
  
This was all Grimlock's fault, he assumed. First he had a Dinobot, now a Stunticon? What would they send him next?  
  


~

  
  
There was a bounce to his step. Grimlock didn't bother to hide it. If his glee frightened other mechs, that was their problem, not his. He was in a good mood and he wanted the whole world to know.  
  
Starscream had agreed to let Grimlock court him. On top of all the other good news that had been flowing into his office, this was the cream of the crop, so to speak.  
  
Life was good.  
  
Right now, nothing could drag Grimlock back to solid ground. Not even Metalhawk and his painfully pathetic attempt at manipulations. It was actually kind of laughable now that he thought about it again, though he was sure Optimus wouldn't think of it as such.  
  
The constant worrying and stressing was probably part of what had sent Optimus to the medbay to begin with. Grimlock had been a little surprised to see the notification pop up in his inbox first thing this morning. Optimus was on medical leave, and Grimlock was to direct all of his future queries to Ultra Magnus.  
  
Well, it was about time. If Optimus wanted to work himself to a spark-attack, that was his business, but Grimlock knew something like this was coming. Optimus didn't know the meaning of self-care and anyone with two optics could see he was working himself beyond the limits of his frame. What surprised Grimlock was that Ratchet hadn't put Optimus down first.  
  
Then again, the two of them could compete for who was more stubborn.  
  
Grimlock chuckled to himself, inviting a startled look from one of the Autobots he was passing, one he didn't recognize. It was probably one of Ultra Magnus' Wreckers, given his size.  
  
Grimlock ignored the mech and continued to his destination, the large and functional office of Optimus' second-in-command. Ultra Magnus was an interesting mech, Grimlock had come to find. He had his similarities to Prowl, but where the Praxian had learned to bend, Magnus remained as stiff as a board.  
  
He probably clashed horribly with Jazz. Grimlock would pay to see their command meetings as they were now. He wondered if Optimus spent as much time separating Jazz and Ultra Magnus, as he had playing peacemaker with Jazz and Prowl.  
  
Ultra Magnus' door was open when Grimlock arrived, though he rapped his knuckles against the frame to announce his presence. He could have been obstinate and demanded that either Magnus come to him or they meet on neutral ground, but as it was, Grimlock wasn't keen on encouraging Metalhawk to look too closely at this meeting.  
  
Grimlock wandering in and out of Polyhex was nothing unusual, given that he used to be an Autobot and that those he considered his genitors lived here. But an Autobot wandering into New Iacon? That was something sure to gather Metalhawk's attention.  
  
Ultra Magnus was perched behind a desk that was far too small for his large frame. Grimlock nearly laughed, except that Ultra Magnus didn't approve of such things as fun. He looked up as Grimlock entered, his expression carefully controlled.  
  
“Welcome,” Ultra Magnus said, and gestured to the only chair available. “Have a seat. I trust you are well?”  
  
“As well as one can be considering I'm the new leader of the Decepticons,” Grimlock said with a touch of humor to his voice. He accepted the offer of the chair, however. “You look busy. I'll try to make this brief.”  
  
Ultra Magnus inclined his helm and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the tiny desk which creaked alarmingly. He laced his fingers together. “I would appreciate that. I understand you would probably prefer to speak with Optimus, but--”  
  
“Ratchet has him on lockdown. I understand. I know better than to cross my genitor.” Someone else would have taken offense at being foisted off on the second in command, but not Grimlock.  
  
Like the Pit he was going to butt heads with _Ratchet_.  
  
“And this was too important to wait,” Grimlock concluded. His own chair creaked beneath him, but it seemed stable enough. “Metalhawk's made a move.”  
  
“So your message indicated.” Ultra Magnus' lips twitched, deepening his neutral expression into a genuine frown. “What did he want?”  
  
“An alliance. He tried to play me for a fool. Unfortunately for him, I am not so easily manipulated.” Grimlock huffed a laugh. “Don't be surprised if he approaches Optimus within the next couple days to ask for a private meeting. And unlike me, he won't take a meeting with you.”  
  
Ultra Magnus inclined his helm. “No, I suspect he won't. He is as mannerless as he is cowardly.” Disdain crept over the second-in-command's expression. Clearly, they shared the same distaste for Metalhawk. “What were the terms of the alliance?”  
  
Grimlock rolled his shoulders. “He was being purposefully vague. Something about establishing lines of trade and the quiet exchange of information. What he wanted me to do was strike an agreement that the Neutrals and Decepticons would ally against the Autobots should the situation arise.”  
  
“I have no doubt he intends to extend the same agreement between himself and the Autobots, citing the danger the Decepticons present,” Ultra Magnus said. He shook his helm. “Metalhawk used to be a politician. No doubt these are the very same games he used to play in the sub-council.”  
  
Politicians. Ugh.  
  
Grimlock shifted in his chair. “I don't intend to let the Neutrals continue to fester under Metalhawk's leadership for much longer. Not if there's anything to be done about it. What's Jazz's plan?”  
  
“What makes you think he has one?”  
  
Grimlock would have bared his denta if he had a mouth, as it was, he let his visor flatten in shades and stared at Ultra Magnus. “Because he's Jazz. The war might be over, but I guarantee you I'm not the only one who thinks there's still a battle to fight.”  
  
Ultra Magnus audibly cycled a ventilation and leaned back in his creaky chair, rubbing two fingers over his forehelm. “He has recruited the aid of the Combaticons, or to be more precise, three-fifths of them.”  
  
“Not Soundwave?”  
  
“As I understand it, they are, for the most part, retired.”  
  
Retired spies? What the frag did that mean? Then again, Grimlock had seen Rumble cavorting around with Bumblebee, and he caught Frenzy and Eject playing some kind of paint game last week. Perhaps Soundwave truly was as tired of the war as he claimed.  
  
Or did it have something to do with the long, lingering looks Soundwave kept casting his new leader's direction?  
  
“I see.” Grimlock rapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “What does Optimus intend to do then?”  
  
“For now, reconnaissance. We hope to discover Metalhawk's end game, and if there is a way to discredit him from the inside, perhaps appoint a different leader,” Ultra Magnus answered as he lowered his hand. “Because as you well know, the number of Neutrals will eventually overwhelm ours. We need to make sure all rough edges are smoothed over before the rest of the survivors return.”  
  
Grimlock inclined his helm. “Cooperation is in everyone's best interest. Thus the reason I'm here today. I only wanted to give Optimus the warning that Metalhawk is beginning to make his move.”  
  
“We appreciate the warning.” Ultra Magnus cracked something that was almost a smile. “And we will be sure to keep you updated on our progress.”  
  
Grimlock pushed to his pedes, dipping his helm in a show of thanks. “Offer Optimus my best wishes for a speedy recovery as well.”  
  
Ultra Magnus nodded, his gaze already returning to the datapad on his desk as he shifted his weight on his creaky chair. “I will be sure to do so. Thank you, Grimlock.”  
  
Sometimes, it still struck him as odd to hear gratitude from an Autobot. He'd spent so long being jammed into a closet with the rest of his brethren, only summoned when the Autobots had need, that yes, gratitude was a scarce thing. Now, they were beginning to give him and his brothers the respect they deserved, but a part of Grimlock still resented the Autobots for their treatment of the Dinobots.  
  
They had all better be glad that Grimlock was a better mech than they could ever hope to be. He could have taken the Decepticons, turned them on the surviving Autobots, and shown them what ruin they had brought themselves.  
  
But he hadn't. Because Grimlock was better than that.  
  
“You're welcome,” Grimlock replied, and he took his leave before Ultra Magnus could read the surprise in his field.  
  
He was better off now than he had been. He was a leader, he was respected, and no one would ever shove him into a closet again.  
  
That was what mattered, more than anything else.  
  


~

  
  
The knock was almost tentative.  
  
Cyclonus cycled his optics and looked up from his paperwork with confusion. Why would anyone knock? All of his visitors usually pinged him for entrance.  
  
“Come in,” he called out, unsure who to expect when the door opened, but smiling softly when the small helm poked in.  
  
“You're not busy, are you?” Tailgate asked, only his helm and the top of his shoulders visible.  
  
Cyclonus set down his stylus and shook his helm. “Nothing that can't wait.” He gestured for the minibot to come inside. “I'm actually surprised you found me.”  
  
His office was tucked into a corner, away from the ones Grimlock and Starscream had claimed. It used to belong to Soundwave, and Cyclonus had inherited it with the former Decepticon's blessing. But that explained why it was hidden.  
  
“I've been wandering around for a while,” Tailgate admitted as he straightened and then fully entered the office. “A very nice cleaning drone gave me directions.”  
  
Cyclonus arched an orbital ridge. “You can speak to them?”  
  
Tailgate tapped his arm where he was emblazoned with his former and current occupation. “It's a mutual respect thing. Like recognizing like.” He looked around, at Cyclonus' bare walls and minimal decoration. “This is very...”  
  
“Austere?” Cyclonus supplied.  
  
Tailgate chuckled. “I was going to say professional, but that works, too.” He found the empty chair and dragged it closer, climbing up into it. “Thank you, by the way. My room is very nice as are the mechs who share my hall.”  
  
Nice Decepticons? Well, Cyclonus had made effort to select those he trusted to room around Tailgate. Most were of his own crew, but there were a few others who had served under Megatron who could be trusted as well.  
  
“I am glad to hear it,” Cyclonus replied. He folded his arms on the desk, giving Tailgate his full attention. The distraction was most welcome. “Have you thought about when you'd like to take the commitment?”  
  
Tailgate squirmed. “You're still requiring that?”  
  
“For now.” Cyclonus cycled a ventilation. “Until such time as we can integrate successfully, it is still important to determine who belongs where. For political and practical reasons. I can understand, however, if you don't wish to take the brand. I'll speak with Starscream and Grimlock. I'm sure we can arrange something.”  
  
Tailgate's legs swung, barely reaching the floor. “If I'm supposed to, I'll do it, I just don't think I'm really a Decepticon, you know? Wouldn't it be rude to take a brand for a cause I don't believe in?”  
  
“That depends on what you think our cause actually is,” Cyclonus replied. He leaned back in his chair, unsurprised Tailgate had such a misconception.  
  
The Decepticons' original intent had been distorted over the years. They'd wandered away from their original intentions as Megatron's thirst for vengeance and power overrode his initial dissatisfaction with the state of Cybertron. Often, Cyclonus had wondered if Megatron had only taken advantage of the plight of the unfortunate, using their dissatisfaction to build himself an army that he could use to take over the universe.  
  
Perhaps the truth had been there all along, and they were all too desperate to change their fates to notice it. Maybe Starscream had been the only one who noticed, but caught up in his own web of power-grabbing, he couldn't take from Megatron what he no longer deserved.  
  
“If you believe that every Cybertronian deserves energon and shelter and the chance to be educated, then you are very much a Decepticon,” Cyclonus continued, remembering fondly how it had been in the beginning. How they'd all stood up for what was right. “If you believe that a mech should be judged by his character, not his frame-type or the circumstances of his creation, then yes, Tailgate, you are more than deserving of taking our brand.”  
  
He leaned forward, offering the former Neutral a small smile. “Claim the brand for what it meant, not what Megatron made it. You understand?”  
  
Tailgate nodded enthusiastically, his fingers tangling together. “I do.” His field flushed with pride. “And when put that way, yes, I do. I want to take the commitment.” He paused and nervously added, “And maybe meet Grimlock.”  
  
Cyclonus chuckled. “I promise, he's not as fierce as he seems.”  
  
“I'll believe it when I see it.”  
  
To be fair, he had a point. Cyclonus huffed a little laugh and picked up his stylus, scooting his datapad back into reach.  
  
“You will. Soon.”  
  
“Good. And in the meantime… you're not busy, are you?”  
  
Cyclonus cycled his optics. “As of this moment?” Didn't they already have this discussion?  
  
Tailgate shook his helm and sat up straight, something pleading in his visor. “No. I mean later. After your shift.”  
  
“I had nothing planned. Why?”  
  
Tailgate audibly reset his vocalizer. “Could we, I don't know, do something together? I don't know what Decepticons do for entertainment but maybe you could show me?”  
  
Cyclonus blinked. He was, for a second, stunned into silence. It took him a moment to really interpret what Tailgate was saying.  
  
“Are you asking me on a date?”  
  
“Yes…?” Tailgate leapt to his pedes, his field spiking with flustered alarm. “I mean, not if you don't want to call it that. I'm happy being friends with you, but maybe, I thought, we could be more?”  
  
“I...” Words, for the first time, failed him.  
  
Tailgate's fingers twisted together. “I don't expect us to fall into a berth immediately or anything like that. I just thought I'd like to get to know you better and now that we're on the same team, I figured, here's my chance.” He shrugged, but it was far from nonchalant.  
  
This was unexpected, but Cyclonus realized, not unwanted. There was a certain delight that pinged his spark every time he saw Tailgate. And there was something in the former Neutral's quiet optimism and fierce determination that spoke to Cyclonus.  
  
He lifted his gaze and met Tailgate's. “Did you know that you can see the Mithric Sea from the top of this building?”  
  
Tailgate shifted his weight and tilted his helm. “Um. No?”  
  
“What if I were to meet you after my shift and show you? Would that be acceptable?” Cyclonus asked, as his field eagerly leapt into the warmth broadcasting in Tailgate's own.  
  
Tailgate's visor brightened. “Yes!” He leaned forward eagerly before falling back as though trying to restrain himself. “I mean, yes that would be acceptable. I'd like that very much.”  
  
Cyclonus smiled despite himself and realized, what he said next was the absolute truth. “I would, too.”  
  


~

  
  
Starscream hadn't knocked.  
  
He didn't think he needed to. He'd scheduled a trine-flight. They'd agreed on a day and time. They had been the ones to come to him whining about how little time he spent with them.  
  
No, Skywarp had whined. Thundercracker had given Starscream that quiet judging look full of disappointment that was just as effective as Skywarp's pleading optics.  
  
So.  
  
Flying. Together. Twice a week. Starscream scheduled it so that he would always have time for his trine. The bond between them had stretched so far as to be intangible, and he had to admit, it was nice to start strengthening it again. Besides, he could really use a flight right now. After that tense meeting with Acid Storm earlier, he felt as though he needed to skim off some tension.  
  
His trinemates knew he was coming. He wasn't even that early. He was right on time, if perhaps a little late.  
  
But the moment he keyed open the door and stepped through it, Starscream slammed to a halt and stared, catching Skywarp and Swoop in a liplock that he would have never called in a thousand years. Oh, and Thundercracker was here, too, one hand around Swoop's waist, his helm tilted against Swoop's.  
  
Hadn't they, just last week, complained about how annoying it was to take the Dinobot flying? Or had that been just a smokescreen? And what the frag? Just because Starscream grabbed a Dinobot for himself didn't meant that his trinemates had to do it, too!  
  
Swoop and Skywarp hurriedly parted. The three put distance between them, but the damage was done. Starscream had seen it. And he could still feel the way their energy fields were knitted together. Thank Primus the air didn't stink of ozone. They hadn't been 'facing.  
  
Starscream stared at them.  
  
They stared back.  
  
Thundercracker's face pinked around the edges. Skywarp's grin was mischievous. Swoop's winglets fluttered, and he tilted his chin with more pride and verve than Starscream had seen the flying Dinobot offer as of late.  
  
“Well,” Starscream said, planting his hands on his hips. “When I said to make him feel at home, this isn't entirely what I had in mind.”  
  
Skywarp coughed into his hand, his faceplate finally taking on color.  
  
Thundercracker sighed and buried his face behind his palm.  
  
Swoop, however, laughed and swaggered forward. “You Starscream jealous?”  
  
He arched an orbital ridge. “Should I be? If I recall, it was your boss who chased after me first.”  
  
“Him Grimlock crush on you Starscream for long time though,” Swoop said with a chortle and a wave of his hand. “This new.”  
  
“Did he now?” What an interesting little tidbit. Starscream gleefully squirreled that away for later. “And who shall I blame for this?”  
  
And did Grimlock know? Whether or not he approved or was going to flip his lid, Starscream didn't know. Grimlock and the rest of his siblings were very, very protective of Swoop. Even before Shockwave got his hand on Swoop.  
  
Skywarp coughed again.  
  
Thundercracker fidgeted.  
  
“It my fault,” Swoop said with another grin that was all too similar to the gleam of amusement in Grimlock's visor.  
  
Starscream's second orbital ridge joined the first. “Is it now?” He looked past Swoop at his very guilty trine-mates. “Oh, I suspect that they are not as innocent as you claim.”  
  
“And neither am I,” Swoop said, in a moment of pure clarity that was eerily similar to Grimlock's. This, Starscream figured, was Shockwave's work. “But me Swoop let you talk. Me Swoop go find him Grimlock.” He half-turned toward Starscream's trinemates. “Me Swoop comm later.”  
  
Swoop left.  
  
Starscream tried very, very hard not to glare at his trinemates. He knew he failed when Thundercracker huffed, and Skywarp's wings twitched.  
  
“He did start it,” Thundercracker said, always ready to defend Skywarp. Starscream tried not to take it personally.  
  
“And we're not facing him,” Skywarp added.  
  
“I don’t care who started it,” Starscream retorted. “End it.”  
  
Skywarp startled. Thundercracker’s optics narrowed.  
  
“Excuse me?” Skywarp said, his armor fluffing.  
  
Starscream folded his arms over his cockpit. “Whatever it is, end it. Curiosity or a fling or what, I don’t care. End it. The last thing Swoop needs right now is the two of you confusing him.”  
  
Skywarp’s mouth moved as though he echoed the word ‘confusing.’ Thundercracker’s expression turned stormy.  
  
“That is unfair,” he said. “Besides, we know what we’re doing. We’re going slow. We don’t even know _what_ we are.” Everything about him was defensive now, his plating clamped, and his denta worrying at his bottom lip.  
  
Starscream shook his helm. Was there something in the energon, for crying out loud?  
  
They’d signed the treaty a little under two months ago. Now, Starscream was being courted by Grimlock. Soundwave mooned after Optimus Prime. Cylonus had a minibot on his heelstruts. _Vortex_ asked permission to court an Autobot, though Primus knew why he thought he needed it, and now _this_.  
  
“Then you had better figure it out,” Starscream said through gritted denta. “Soon. And whatever you decide, make sure it’s clear as crystal to Swoop. You know he doesn’t process like everyone else.”  
  
Skywarp and Thundercracker exchanged another glance. Skywarp frowned, and Thundercracker shook his helm.  
  
“He’s not stupid,” Skywarp muttered. “And neither am I, for that matter.”  
  
“I think we know how to talk to him better than you do,” Thundercracker retorted, all but putting himself in front of Skywarp. Protecting him, as he always did.  
  
It had been a long time since either of them stood up for Starscream like that.  
  
He cycled a ventilation and palmed his faceplate. “Just… take care of it,” he said, and waved a hand of dismissal, turning away from both of them. “Remember who his eldest brother is. I’m not going to get between you if you do something stupid.”  
  
“We remember,” Skywarp retorted.  
  
Starscream performed a systems check, aware that his wings twitched out of his control. This was supposed to be a calm, relaxing flight. One that would help bring them back to the unity they once had as a trine.  
  
He shouldn’t have started it by snapping commands and all but yelling at them. Primus, but he was such a failure sometimes.  
  
Starscream cycled a ventilation and rubbed at his forehelm. “We do have an appointment to keep,” he said, desperate to change the subject. “Unless you’d rather reschedule?”  
  
“No,” Thundercracker said.  
  
“I’m not missing another chance to go flying,” Skywarp added, and pushed past Starscream into the interior of the suite he shared with Thundercracker.  
  
Thank Primus that like Starscream, Thundercracker and Skywarp had a balcony and they would not have to suffer any long, awkward walks down hallways out of the building. Instead, they would get to enjoy a long, awkward flight together.  
  
Skywarp was the first to launch himself into the sky, but Thundercracker and Starscream were quick to join him. Silence fell between them as they lazily climbed higher. No doubt they were all thinking of what Starscream had discovered.  
  
He was in the middle of trying to decide exactly how he was going to tell Grimlock and whether or not he even needed to when Skywarp finally spoke up.  
  
“We really ought to do this more often,” Skywarp chirped as he shot ahead of them, twisting into a tight spiral before suddenly climbing higher.  
  
Starscream and Thundercracker followed him at a more sedate, modest pace. They weren't doing maneuvers right now. They flew for the joy of it.  
  
“Twice a week isn't enough for you?” Starscream replied with amusement ripe in his voice.  
  
“Every day wouldn't be enough for him,” Thundercracker retorted, his words sharp, but his tone speaking of affection.  
  
He banked to the left and Starscream copied him to the right just as Skywarp shot between them with another spin and a shout of joy.  
  
Starscream watched his trinemate twist and turn through the air, sheer delight in every burst of speed. He and Thundercracker drifted back together, their wingtips almost touching as Skywarp continued to do loops around them.  
  
“So,” Thundercracker prompted.  
  
If they were in root-mode, Starscream would have given him a sideways look. If anything, he should have been the one to make the awkward overture.  
  
“So what?”  
  
“There are rumors,” Thundercracker said carefully as though picking his words one by one, “that you and our new leader have begun to court.”  
  
Pfft. As if he had any room to talk.  
  
Starscream, to his credit, did not lose pace. He knew the rumors would get around eventually. He didn't know it would be this fast.  
  
“They are not mere rumor,” he replied. “Grimlock asked to court me properly and I accepted.”  
  
“We're not disappointed,” Skywarp said as he barrel-rolled above them, his comm thick with affection and approval. “We think it's a good thing. We actually like Grimlock.”  
  
And his youngest brother, apparently.  
  
Thundercracker hummed in agreement. “There is a matter of the chain of command, however.”  
  
“You mean, will we able to keep our personal and professional life separate,” Starscream assumed, he tipped to the right, angling them away from Nova Cronum and toward Thunderhead Pass. “The answer to that question is yes.”  
  
Thundercracker made a non-committal noise as Skywarp swooped in to fly at Starscream's other side. They were now, all three, nearly wingtip to wingtip. It felt so natural, so right, to have them by his side again.  
  
“We trust you,” Skywarp said with a little waggle. “We just want to make sure it won't be a problem for anyone else.”  
  
“It won't be.” Starscream cycled a ventilation and gave himself over to the feeling of flight, the air curving over his nosecone and back across his frame. “We have things well in hand. Or should I ask you about your relationship with Swoop?”  
  
Skywarp tilted away by a fraction. “Or we could not.” His field smacked of embarrassment but also, pride. Whatever was going on between the three of them, it was making his trinemates happier.  
  
“Have you told Grimlock?” Starscream asked. The idea of an angry Tyrannosaurus Rex chasing down his trinemates was both amusing and horrifying. They could fly, but did they dare ever land again?  
  
“We assumed it would come up when it became relevant,” Thundercracker replied smoothly. “Or that Swoop would inform him. We had only just decided to try and explore something more than friendship.”  
  
“I sure hope you two know what you are doing,” Starscream said. Though to be fair, relationship disputes were far more welcome than the sort that led back to war.  
  
The horizon dipped.  
  
Starscream shuddered.  
  
What in the…?  
  
Starscream startled back into full awareness. There was a heaviness in his frame, one that pulled him toward the ground. In fact, he was losing altitude, as though he'd tilted himself in a nose-dive, but he hadn't done so.  
  
His mind was spinning. His tanks lurched. His thrusters spluttered as though he were low on fuel, but that was impossible. He'd topped it before taking to the air, intending on going for an extended flight with his trine. Even now, his fuel readings read a sultry eighty percent.  
  
“Starscream?”  
  
His sensors went haywire. His visual feed filled with static. His audials glitched, though he swore someone was speaking to him. His comm crackled.  
  
He dipped again. He was pointed toward the ground. The horizon and the sky were gone. All he could see was Cybertron's landscape below and the wind whipping against him, no longer friend, but now a foe.  
  
He tried to stall, to pull himself up. His thoughts spun again.  
  
He screamed at himself, all of it internal. Transform, you fool! He tried to engage his transformation cog. He even heard the sound of it initiating, the click-click, only for it to grind to a halt. Like a jammed cog.  
  
His spark beat a rapid pace, fear slicing through his systems. His tank lurched and the world started to spin. Was it the world, or was it him? Was he the one spinning?  
  
The ground got closer. Too close.  
  
Someone was shouting for him, over and over. There was a blur in front of him. Black and purple. Light blue and black.  
  
His spark throbbed again. He screamed over comms and got static in return. The wind screeched around him.  
  
Transform!  
  
With the agonizing grind of metal on metal, his cog engaged, and the air slammed into Starscream with the force of a gestalt punch. He flailed, panicking, as black crept in around the edges. He couldn't see! He couldn't hear! He couldn't--couldn't--  
  
Warnings. All in red and orange. He was hot, too hot, he was burning up. His tank squeezed. His vision swam.  
  
There was noise in his audials.  
  
There was darkness.  
  
****


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "World on Fire," Les Friction

The only thing Grimlock hated about his alt-mode was that it was not mobile. He was faster in his root mode, but that required an alternate form of transportation to travel between Polyhex and New Iacon.  
  
If not for the political maneuverings, Grimlock really would have made Ultra Magnus come to Iacon. Magnus, at least, had wheels of his own.  
  
Grimlock had to borrow his. And while the Decepticons owned a few non-sentient vehicles for transportation, it was something of an irritation that Grimlock needed one. Especially since the roads connecting the two cities, three if he counted Nova Cronum, were barely cleared, much less smooth.  
  
It made for a bumpy ride. But Grimlock was not inclined to change his alt-mode either. He preferred to be a Dinobot. He enjoyed being a Dinobot. He didn't want to be anything other than a Dinobot, no matter what fascination he had with his Intended's wings.  
  
The tallest tower of New Iacon was in sight when his comm suite pinged. Grimlock looked up to see Swoop soaring above him, gliding on an air current. He was surprisingly alone.  
  
Grimlock sent back an acknowledging ping as he slowed down. Swoop flew above him, matching his speed and then spiraled downward. He performed an aerial maneuver he had to have learned from the Seekers, which culminated in a midair transformation before he landed neatly in the empty seat next to Grimlock.  
  
Well, next to neatly. He sprawled a bit as the buggy bounced and the movement of it tossed Swoop against Grimlock's side.  
  
He laughed, however, and surprised Grimlock further. This was the happiest Grimlock had seen Swoop in weeks, and the fact that he flew alone warmed Grimlock's spark.  
  
“There you Grimlock are,” Swoop said as he caught his balance and shifted to get comfortable in the bucket seat. “Me Swoop look all over for you. Where you Grimlock been?”  
  
“Polyhex,” he answered as he picked up speed again and trundled back toward New Iacon, mere minutes away. “Where you Swoop been? You Swoop flying!”  
  
Swoop _warked_ at him. “Yep! Thanks to him Sky and him Thunder.” He looked both smug and proud. “They good teachers.”  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
“Mmm.” Swoop made a non-committal noise. But there was something of mischievous humor in his vocals. Enough that Grimlock gave him a second and then a third look.  
  
“There something me Grimlock should know?” he demanded as he pressed the pedal and steered them toward home. It was a bumpy ride, making him envy both Swoop and Starscream for their ability to fly.  
  
Swoop grinned. “Nope. Not yet.”  
  
Grimlock narrowed a look at the youngest Dinobot. “Me Grimlock not like sound of that.” Perhaps he should have a talk with Skywarp and Thundercracker.  
  
All Swoop did was laugh. He leaned in against Grimlock's side, in something like a hug, which was difficult considering the way the terrain tossed them around inside the transport.  
  
“Tough. You Grimlock have to wait. Me Swoop will tell when ready.”  
  
“You Swoop being sneaky. Me Grimlock not like it,” he grumbled.  
  
Swoop's field nudged against his with gleeful humor, which made Grimlock melt and at once not care for whatever secret it was that Swoop held. Clearly, it made him happy and chased away the lingering shadows from his time spent in Shockwave's care. That was enough for Grimlock.  
  
“But me Grimlock wait,” he conceded.  
  
Swoop's smile was worth it. “Good,” he said and reached over, patting Grimlock on the shoulder. “Me Swoop proud of you Grimlock.”  
  
“Proud?” Grimlock repeated, glancing at his youngest brother. “Why you Swoop proud? Me Grimlock is proud! You Swoop done more.”  
  
The flyer laughed at him, sounding so relaxed that Grimlock's spark spun with warmth. “Me Swoop still proud. You Grimlock done good things. We all proud of you Grimlock.”  
  
Grimlock's visor brightened, heat flushing through his frame. “Me Grimlock proud of everyone,” he declared, squirming inside at the unexpected praise.  
  
“You Grimlock embarrassed!” Swoop warked a cackle and patted Grimlock on the shoulder again. “It's cute!”  
  
Grimlock tried to protest but, well, Swoop wasn't _wrong_. Praise was often in short supply. Ratchet and Wheeljack had done as best they could, but given the way the rest of the Autobots had treated the Dinobots, acceptance and gratitude were few and far between.  
  
Good thing they had such thick plating.  
  
“You Swoop hush,” he said, though the affection in his field belied the warning as he reached out with it.  
  
Swoop grinned at him.  
  
They arrived at the transport dock, Grimlock screeching to a halt and kicking up a cloud of particulate dust. He disembarked, handed over the keycard to the Decepticon soldier on duty, and gestured for Swoop to come with him. Though Swoop probably could have flown the rest of the way faster.  
  
“Don't you Swoop have work to do?” Grimlock asked.  
  
“Need a job first,” Swoop countered with an elbow jostle. “You Grimlock give everyone else job, why not me Swoop?”  
  
Grimlock's comm chimed before he could answer, coming through on an emergency frequency, from Thundercracker of all mechs. This was doubly odd because Thundercracker wasn't on shift. He was supposed to be on a trine-flight with Starscream and Skywarp.  
  
Grimlock paused mid-step as he accepted the comm, holding up a hand to indicate Swoop should wait for him as well. “Grimlock here.”  
  
“It's Starscream!” Thundercracker all but shouted at him, the transmission coming through laced with static. “Something happened, I don't know what. But you need to come to the medical center now.”  
  
Grimlock’s spark dropped into his tanks. Thundercracker was not the sort to play a prank. Nor was he the type to panic. Yet, there was nothing less than fear in his voice.  
  
“Understood,” Grimlock said, careful to keep his tone tight and controlled. “I will be there as soon as possible.” If he ran, he could be there in less than ten minutes.  
  
He cut off the comm, his hands pulling in and out of fists. His world narrowed down to a thin point.  
  
Starscream. Something had happened to Starscream. He was in the medical center. Something had put Starscream in the medical center.  
  
No.  
  
_Someone_.  
  
Megatron was dead; Grimlock had seen to that himself. He’d crushed Megatron’s spark with his fist while Megatron boasted that he didn’t have the struts to do so. He’d been there as they melted the frame.  
  
It could not have been Megatron. But someone was to blame.  
  
_Who?_  
  
A low growl rose in Grimlock’s intake.  
  
A hand rested on his arm, followed by the warm push of a concerned energy field. “What is it?” Swoop asked.  
  
“I have to get to the medcenter,” Grimlock said, his own voice vibrating back to his audials as if through a fog. “It's Starscream. Something happened.”  
  
Swoop's fingers tightened on his arm before he let go. “Go. Me Swoop follow.”  
  
He didn't need the permission, but Swoop saying it got his pedes into gear. It got him moving, slow at first, and then he broke into a run, cursing his alt-mode yet again. The open-top transport couldn't fit into the narrow streets of New Iacon – a purposeful design, but one Grimlock now regretted.  
  
Behind him, he heard Swoop transform and take to the sky. He would get there before Grimlock.  
  
Grimlock's ventilations shifted into overdrive. He passed others, he didn't know who. New Iacon was a blur of color and noise, all of his focus turned outward.  
  
What happened? He wanted to know.  
  
Why? He needed an answer.  
  
But the darkest of them, the one that caused rage to bubble up and boil, was who?  
  
Oh, he suspected he only needed one guess. It could have been a Decepticon. Any free Decepticon who had a well-hidden grudge against Starscream. Or maybe it wasn't personal, maybe it was convenience. Someone offering a tidy sum to take Starscream out.  
  
Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it was an accident. But would Thundercracker comm Grimlock for an accident?  
  
No. He wouldn't. Because Starscream would have commed Grimlock himself.  
  
It could have been a Decepticon. He supposed, if he were Megatron, he might have thought it was an Autobot. His blame would have immediately gone to the mech he'd been fighting for millennia.  
  
Grimlock was not a fool.  
  
It was Metalhawk. There could be no other explanation. The thinly veiled threat he'd given? Was more of a promise.  
  
And when Grimlock had the proof he needed, he would storm into Nova Cronum and show him how much of a mistake that had been.  
  
He burst into the medbay with all the subtlety of a raging train, moving quickly through the receiving room and into the medbay proper, his energy field preceding his arrival. He barely noticed Skywarp and Thundercracker in the receiving room, his visor seeking out Knock Out or Glit or whoever was on duty.  
  
“What happened?” Grimlock demanded as Knock Out came into view, his hands clean but a few stray spatters of energon on his upper arms and chest.  
  
“That is still unclear, my lord,” Knock Out said, sounding harried though without the usual supercilious tone. “All I know at this time is that he collapsed mid-flight, and I am now doing everything possible to keep him alive.”  
  
Grimlock stopped mid-stride and whirled toward Knock Out. “What do you mean? What is his condition?”  
  
Knock Out stared up at him. “Critical.”  
  
He had spent enough time around Ratchet to know what that meant. “Explain,” Grimlock growled.  
  
Knock Out's field flickered but he nodded and turned back down the hall, leaving Grimlock to follow him. “I have managed to stabilize him, but only because I had the necessary equipment to do so. As near as I can tell, all of his primary systems are failing at a rapid pace.”  
  
Grimlock's spark squeezed into his intake. He felt like he couldn't ventilate, and he was seeing through a very narrow tunnel. Knock Out spouted technical terms at him, but all Grimlock could pick out was: critical, failing, severe, urgency.  
  
Starscream was dying, and Knock Out was picking all the diplomatic ways to say it.  
  
“I want to see him,” Grimlock said, interrupting something Knock Out was saying about fluid levels and coding patches, stuff Grimlock didn't understand.  
  
Knock Out paused in front of a private patient room, his hand covering the panel. “It's a clean room, my lord. And besides all that, you won't fit.” He gestured with his free hand to the adjoining wall. “Here is a viewing window. There is one final test I need to run and perhaps I can give you a better idea of what is happening to him.”  
  
Grimlock nodded, not trusting his words. Knock Out was quick to vanish into the room, leaving Grimlock alone to approach the window, his spark squeezing tighter and tighter. He almost didn't want to look, but knew he had to. His ventilations caught in his intake as his gaze fell on Starscream, so small and hidden beneath the equipment keeping him alive.  
  
Grimlock had seen all of these machines in his functioning, usually tucked into dusty corners of the Ark's medbay, things that Ratchet rarely had call to use. Or if it he did, it was only one at a time. Some of them barely functioned. A few didn't work at all, but Ratchet kept them so Wheeljack could have a Project and maybe one day, if the war was on pause, they could fix them.  
  
Grimlock had never seen all of the machines attached to an individual. There were so many wires and hoses and monitoring devices attached to Starscream, that he could barely see his Intended beneath the machinery. Knock Out wouldn't have used so many if they weren't required to keep Starscream functioning.  
  
Grimlock's ventilations turned ragged. His hands pulled in and out of fists.  
  
He heard footsteps and looked up to see Swoop coming down the hallway. He should have gotten here before Grimlock, but something had delayed him. Grimlock made a mental note to ask later.  
  
“How him Starscream?” Swoop asked.  
  
Grimlock shook his helm, turning his gaze back to the window. “Alive. For now.” The words felt wrong on his vocalizer, like he walked in a dream and he would wake from this nightmare soon enough.  
  
On the outside, Starscream looked fine. He could see a few scratches, a few dents in his armor. Perhaps caused when he shut down in the middle of a flight and his panicking systems caused him to auto-transform. Thundercracker and Skywarp had caught him before he hit the ground, but it wasn't pretty.  
  
If he'd been flying alone, Starscream would have crashed. Depending on where he landed, he wouldn't have survived.  
  
Grimlock wanted to take Starscream's hand, reassure himself that Starscream lived, but even in that massive room, Grimlock wouldn't fit around all the machinery. It was all Knock Out could do to scuttle around the wires and cables and hoses. Even now, Knock Out gingerly eased his way free of all the equipment.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“I don't know,” Grimlock replied, a shudder rippling across his armor. He performed a systems check to get his flickering field under control. “No one knows.”  
  
The door opened, Knock Out emerging, this time wiping down his arms and tucking a mesh cloth into a subspace pocket.  
  
“I have the results,” Knock Out said as the door closed shut behind him, but not before Grimlock could hear the terrible rattle-clank-roar of all of the machinery keeping Starscream alive.  
  
“What's wrong with him?” Grimlock demanded. He couldn't bring himself to tear his gaze away from the window.  
  
If he looked away, he might miss something important.  
  
“I don't know for sure, my lord, but--”  
  
Grimlock's engine raced. “If you don't know, then he needs to go to Polyhex.” He didn't want excuses; he wanted answers. If Knock Out couldn't provide them, then Grimlock would go to someone who could.  
  
“I've only just managed to stabilize him,” Knock Out said, his tone a touch sharp. “If you move him, I can't guarantee he'll survive the trip.”  
  
Grimlock's plating clamped tightly.  
  
Swoop edged closer, his field nudging at Grimlock's. “Call Mama Ratchet,” he said softly. “He come.”  
  
Politically, Grimlock knew he shouldn't. The last thing he should do was make a call to the Autobots and ask for a favor, even though he knew they would be willing to provide it without demanding one in return. He knew Optimus Prime would be the first to insist that he provide aid.  
  
However, it would make Grimlock look weak in the optics of the Decepticons. It would make him appear to have no faith in his own medical staff.  
  
He didn't want to lose Starscream over politics.  
  
Grimlock drew in a ragged ventilation and tore his gaze away from Starscream's limp frame. He turned toward Knock Out, and for once, he allowed himself to loom. He allowed his field to roll out, heavy and demanding.  
  
“I want the truth,” Grimlock growled. “No lies. No posturing. Can you repair him?”  
  
Knock Out, his faceplate already pale, blanched even further. His gaze skittered about, and he gnawed on his bottom lip. Grimlock knew that Knock Out could be something of a vain idiot. That he postured and he prided himself on his skills. Whether or not he would be mech enough to admit he couldn't do something, Grimlock didn't know.  
  
“Because if you claim that you can,” Grimlock continued, pushing more weight into his field, until it had to feel like Knock Out was being buried in it, “and he dies because of your pride, I will blame you no matter who is actually at fault. Do you understand?”  
  
Knock Out stared up at him as he folded his arms over his chestplate. “I could repair him,” he said, though it was with less self-aggrandizing flair than he usually produced. “But that relies upon me knowing what is causing the failures. Since I do not have that answer, I cannot confirm or deny my capability.”  
  
Grimlock cycled a ventilation. He drew back and looked at Starscream through the viewing portal again. That many machines… surely time was of the essence. Whatever had gotten to Starscream had been meant to kill, not merely incapacitate.  
  
He refused to take any chances.  
  
Grimlock activated his comm and dialed the direct line to Ratchet. Protocol strongly suggested he make this a formal request, through Soundwave and then Optimus. But no. Grimlock wasn't going to ask on behalf of the Decepticon Army. He intended to ask for a favor from his creator, all factions aside.  
  
It was the only way to circumvent the political hurdles.  
  
Ratchet answered, but Grimlock feared he woke Ratchet from recharge, given the sleepy cant to the medic's vocals.  
  
“Grimlock? Is something wrong?”  
  
He worked his intake. He ignored Knock Out's insulted huff and leaned into the comfort of Swoop at his side.  
  
“Me Grimlock need help,” he said, his focus torn between the dialect he first remembered using, and the proper dialect he'd effected as leader of the Decepticons. “Him Starscream is… sick.”  
  
Earth term. But Grimlock had been created and raised on Earth. He still considered it home more than he considered Cybertron.  
  
“What do you mean 'sick'?” Ratchet demanded, immediately sounding more alert. “No. Never mind. That's not important. I'm on my way.”  
  
The comm clicked off. Grimlock wasn't the least bit offended. Ratchet was on his way and that was what mattered to him.  
  
He cycled a ventilation, struggling to cling to a calm that rapidly evaded his grasp. He tilted his visor toward Knock Out, who looked as though he fought his own losing battle between gratitude and outrage.  
  
“You will cooperate in full with the Autobot Medic,” Grimlock ordered, leaving no room for discussion. “Am I clear?”  
  
Knock Out lifted his chin. “As Praxian crystal,” he replied. “Then if you'll excuse me, I will tend to the commander until Ratchet arrives.” His helm tilt and departure was stiff, perhaps even offended.  
  
Grimlock would worry about soothing hurt egos later. He was more concerned with Starscream surviving.  
  
And who had done this.  
  
He had three messages waiting in his queue, contacts he'd received on his frantic run to get here and after his arrival. Two were from Cyclonus. The third was from Sunstorm. He needed to attend to them. He needed to lead. He needed… He needed to do something more than stand here and feel his spark shrink smaller and smaller in his casing.  
  
“You Grimlock come.”  
  
Swoop tugged on his arm. It wasn't enough to force Grimlock to move, but it roused him from his stupor. He watched long enough to see Knock Out re-enter Starscream's room, and then he let Swoop tug him down the hall, around the corner, to the waiting area.  
  
Thundercracker and Skywarp were here, the former perched on a stool, braced forward on his knees, the latter pacing back and forth in sharp, jerky motions. They looked up as Grimlock entered, fields spiking with alarm.  
  
“Is he…?” Skywarp trailed off as though unable to finish his statement, unable to even contemplate the worst.  
  
Grimlock shook his helm. “I've called Ratchet. Knock Out's with him now. He's critical, but stable, for whatever that is worth.” The definition of stable varied.  
  
Grimlock had watched Ratchet enough that stable could turn to severe and then critical in the space of a spark beat. Stable only meant the mech was alive and unlikely to suddenly crash. Unlikely, but not impossible.  
  
“What happened?” Grimlock demanded, though he'd already heard portions of the story, in the stuttered bits and pieces Thundercracker tossed at him over the comm.  
  
Skywarp's wings went rigid. His hands tangled in front of his frame. Thundercracker pushed to his pedes, dragging his palm down his faceplate.  
  
“We were flying,” he said. “Nothing difficult. We weren't even practicing maneuvers. We were talking and then he… dropped.”  
  
“Dropped,” Grimlock repeated. His tank flipped. He felt himself going still, like a statue, flat and emotionless. All the while rage boiled inside of him like the volcano the Autobots had called home.  
  
“He wouldn't answer his comms,” Skywarp continued, his field a wavering burst that only eased when Thundercracker stepped up beside him. “He didn't respond when we called his name. He just dropped.”  
  
“When we caught him, he was burning up and shaking. Delirious,” Thundercracker continued where Skywarp left off, though he rubbed at his forehelm over and over. “His field lashed out as if attacking us, and his cooling fans were rattling at full spin, though he was still hot to the touch.”  
  
Grimlock performed a systems check. “Knock Out thinks it is a virus.” Which meant someone deliberately infected Starscream. Someone had crossed cables with him and transmitted it to him. Or sent it to him in a message or through a datapad he had accessed.  
  
“No doubt something that is attacking and shutting down his autonomic systems,” Thundercracker murmured as his gaze tilted toward the floor. “Otherwise, Knock Out wouldn't need so much external machinery to keep him stable.”  
  
Grimlock's field burst before he could rein it in, a failure noted by the way Skywarp flinched, and Thundercracker cringed. Swoop weathered it with the ease of familiarity, and his hand on Grimlock's arm tightened.  
  
“I want answers,” Grimlock growled, struggling to keep himself under control and knowing he had no chance of maintaining it. “What. Who. When.” He already knew why. If he didn't have the tiniest sliver of restraint, he'd already be halfway to Nova Cronum.  
  
“I want the answers as soon as possible. Every second will count. I want to know who to blame if...” He clenched and unclenched his fingers, his visor burning. “When Starscream is fully repaired.”  
  
Thundercracker nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said in a tight tone. He'd gone rigid, his wings pressed flat to his backplate. “We'll do what we can.”  
  
“You'll keep us updated on his progress, right?” Skywarp asked, his own wings flicking in constant motion, as if unable to keep up with his emotions. “We want to be here if…”  
  
He didn't finish his sentence. Grimlock didn't want him to.  
  
He inclined his helm. “I will instruct the medics to contact me and then you if anything should change,” Grimlock replied and shifted his attention to Thundercracker. “I will be calling for a staff meeting shortly. Be prepared to step in as interim commander.”  
  
Grimlock knew Thundercracker didn't want it, but Grimlock didn't trust Acid Storm or Sunstorm enough to temporarily give them the job. He needed Thundercracker to step up for the time being. They would worry about everything else later.  
  
Thundercracker cycled a ventilation. “Yes, sir. I'll inform the rest of the division of the temporary change.” His shoulders sagged, but he gestured toward Skywarp. “Come on. We've got work to do.”  
  
They left, though there was no energy in their movements. They no more wanted to leave than Grimlock did, but on top of needing to repair Starscream, he needed to know who to blame. Whoever it was, if Grimlock could find them, he could make them talk. He could get answers and perhaps find a cure.  
  
Left alone, only now did Grimlock allow himself to sink into a chair, showing a weakness he could not allow his Decepticons to see. Swoop remained with him, squeezing in beside him, the warmth and vibrations of his fellow Dinobot offering Grimlock a strength he desperately needed.  
  
“Him Starscream strong,” Swoop said as he curled his hand around Grimlock's and tangled their fingers together. “Him Starscream never die.”  
  
Grimlock lowered his helm and hid his visor behind his palm. He leaned on Swoop's optimism, and turned his worry, his concern into fuel for his anger.  
  
“I hope you are right,” he said, clinging to Swoop's hand. “When I find the mech responsible, he will learn why I am to be feared as the Decepticon leader,” he added with a growl.  
  
Swoop made a quiet warble in the back of his intake, an oddly soothing sound. But he didn't protest or argue otherwise.  
  
Sirens preceded Ratchet's arrival. Grimlock heard them echoing in the corridors, along with a few short-lived shouts. He'd already pinged the front gate to let them know the Autobot Chief Medic was coming and to let him through without pause, but the Decepticons in general hadn't gotten the memo. No doubt a few had protested Ratchet strolling into their command center.  
  
Grimlock would have to do something about that in the future, arrange for an emergency protocol all of his soldiers would know. But for now, there was a more important issue.  
  
Ratchet strode into the medbay as though he owned it, though given the way his energy field was clamped tightly and his armor equally so, Grimlock knew it had to be a struggle for him. This was a place of sour memories for Ratchet, and Grimlock was deeply grateful that he'd still agreed to come, without even a second question. He pushed to his pedes, but Swoop beat him to it.  
  
“What happened?” Ratchet asked as Swoop stole his attention for a brief hug before Ratchet could concentrate on Grimlock. “And what do you mean Starscream is sick?”  
  
“I don't know what happened,” Grimlock said, tension creeping back into his struts. “According to his trinemates, everything was fine until he started to glitch in the middle of a flight and went offline. Knock Out has him on spark support.”  
  
Ratchet nodded. “I know that much. I had Knock Out brief me on my way here. Do you have any idea who or what could have caused it?”  
  
Grimlock shook his helm. “Not yet. But I will.” The last emerged as a snarl, one he hadn't intended, but Ratchet didn't blink. He was used to it. “Thank you for coming. I know it's hard for you to be here--”  
  
Ratchet waved a hand as if to cut him off. “I'm not going to let myself be bullied into not performing my function,” he said, and then his gaze softened, affection shining through the mask he'd put on. “You needed me. That's what matters.”  
  
His ventilations hitched. Screw propriety.  
  
Grimlock opened his arms, and Ratchet came into them, which also was an improvement considering how touch-avoidant he'd been before. He listened to the sturdy purr of Ratchet's engine, felt his creator's field wrap around him, and some of his own tension eased. He wasn't so foolish as to think the world was rainbows right now, but it wasn't ash and spilled energon either.  
  
Ratchet patted him on the back and then stepped back. “Now, let me see what I can do for your Intended.”  
  
“I never told you he said yes.”  
  
Ratchet snorted and slipped past Grimlock, heading for the medbay proper. “I figured that out for myself, bratling.”  
  
They followed Ratchet into the medbay proper, where he made a beeline for the critical patient ward. If he was bothered by returning to the place of his imprisonment, Ratchet didn't show it. He was nothing but business as he strode down the hallway, finally pausing in front of Starscream's room.  
  
He peered in through the window first and his frown deepened. “This much equipment...” he murmured. “It's worse than I thought.” He squared his shoulders and looked up at Grimlock. “Knock Out knows to expect me?”  
  
“He's been instructed to cooperate with you in full. If he doesn't, be sure to let me know,” Grimlock said, though he'd hoped the warning he'd issued would be enough.  
  
He wasn't above demoting Knock Out and promoting Glit if that was what it took for Knock Out to understand how important obedience was.  
  
“I should hope that's not a problem.” Ratchet rubbed his faceplate and then audibly cycled a ventilation. “All right. I'll let you know as soon as we have something to go on. Until then, get some rest.”  
  
“Yes, Ratchet,” Grimlock said as Swoop echoed him with, “Yes, Mama.”  
  
Ratchet gave Swoop a quirked grin, patting him on the shoulder, before he braced himself and entered Starscream's private room. The door swung shut behind him and Grimlock moved to the window to watch the proceedings. Ratchet had to move carefully, stepping around all the wires and equipment, but he made it to Starscream's berthside.  
  
He and Knock Out exchanged a few words, with Knock Out rolling his optics, but Ratchet didn't look angry so Grimlock assumed that meant Knock Out was cooperating. Good.  
  
Ratchet joined Knock Out over Starscream's limp frame. They bent their helms together, skimmed data, and Ratchet navigated the maze of wires and cables and hoses to examine Starscream for himself.  
  
Grimlock watched it all from the window. He told himself that everything was going to be all right. Ratchet could fix anything. There was nothing the combined might of all the surviving medics on Cybertron couldn't repair.  
  
“Mama Ratchet right. You Grimlock need to rest,” Swoop said, dragging Grimlock's attention though he didn't look away from the window.  
  
Grimlock shook his helm. “I couldn't.”  
  
“Staying here won't help,” Swoop replied and put a hand on Grimlock's shoulder, his field offering comfort. “You Grimlock need be strong. For him Starscream.”  
  
He would have to force his pedes to move. He didn't want to walk away. He feared if he went too far, something would happen, and he wouldn't be here.  
  
The machines all exhibited positive colors and numbers, Grimlock could tell that much. Ratchet looked concerned, but not agitated. Knock Out seemed confident, but when didn't he? The two of them were talking, exchanging data over a pad at a rapid pace, but neither of them plugged into Starscream. Instead, there was a datapad connected to his systems.  
  
The virus was likely contagious. It could probably leap systems. Whoever had infected Starscream had probably hoped he would connect to Grimlock before the virus could take Starscream out. They hadn't been particularly secretive about their relationship.  
  
_How? Who?_  
  
The questions burned in Grimlock's cortex.  
  
He whirled away from the window as the anger rose in him all over again. Swoop was right in this much. Standing here accomplished nothing.  
  
“You Grimlock rest now?”  
  
“No. I couldn't.” He cycled a ventilation. “But there is work I could do. You should rest though.”  
  
Swoop shook his helm. “Me Swoop tell other Dinobots first. Then go find him Thundercracker and Skywarp.”  
  
Grimlock stared at the other Dinbot. “Why?”  
  
“Because they need comfort, too.” Swoop cracked a small smile, squeezed Grimlock's hand again, and then drew away. “Me Swoop be back. You Grimlock call me Swoop if need, yes?”  
  
Grimlock nodded, still confused, not that Swoop gave him an opportunity to ask. He was gone before Grimlock could properly parse whatever it was Swoop had implied.  
  
No. He would have to worry about that later. Right now he had to go… somewhere. He wasn't accomplishing anything standing here at the window, watching the two medics work. He needed to at least pretend he wasn't falling apart inside. He was the Decepticon leader. He couldn't afford to show weakness.  
  
He didn't know where else to go. So he went to his office. He should probably hold that command meeting, but if Ratchet pinged him with an answer, he didn't want to leave midway through. He'd rather have all the facts before he brought up what they should do next with his staff.  
  
Grimlock lowered himself to his chair and stared blankly at his console. It was powered down for the day. His inbox was neatly stacked with paperwork, no doubt delivered by one of Cyclonus' mechs. He had the better trained staff so Grimlock had recruited them for some of the more delicate work.  
  
Speaking of… Grimlock attended to all three of the messages in his queue. One of the two from Cyclonus weren't important, but the second one was a simple query. Grimlock sent him a notice of the pending meeting and promised to answer his questions later. Sunstorm's message expressed his concern and politely asked for an update.  
  
Grimlock chewed on the request for several seconds before he responded with an invitation for Sunstorm to attend the command meeting when it was called. Thundercracker was still his interim air commander, but Sunstorm's input might be helpful.  
  
There. He'd worked.  
  
Grimlock sagged lower in his chair. He offlined his visor, sinking into the silence and darkness of his office. It offered little comfort.  
  
He ought to go to recharge. Grimlock could feel himself dragging, and tomorrow wasn't planning on being any shorter. He needed to rest and refuel, perhaps get some work done as well. He'd made a promise to himself that he wouldn't let his relationship with Starscream interfere with his leadership of the Decepticons. While he now led a mismatched army of mechs he did and did not like, Grimlock refused to be selfish.  
  
He ought to go do something more than sit helplessly at Starscream's berthside. It didn't matter it was the only place he wanted to be. Even Ratchet would take one look at him and tell him to recharge.  
  
The thought of his empty berth, however, was unappealing. Starscream hadn't spent that much time in it, but Grimlock had already grown used to the Seeker's weight on his frame, talons extended and hooked into Grimlock's armor. He always recharged as though he thought Grimlock would slip away in the night.  
  
It was both alarming and endearing, and it made Grimlock loathe Megatron more and more, deep in the Pit of his spark. If he could revive the mech to kill him all over again, it wouldn't be enough.  
  
Grimlock sighed and covered his face with one hand.  
  
His comm pinged. It was Ratchet's ident code.  
  
Grimlock straightened, reaching up to activate his comm. “Grimlock here.”  
  
“You should be in recharge,” Ratchet said, his voice thick with fatigue. “But I also knew you wouldn't be. Come on down to the medbay. We need to talk.”  
  
That was never a good sign.  
  
Grimlock cycled a ventilation. “I'll be there shortly.” He pushed to his pedes, gathered up his datapads, and tumbled them into his subspace.  
  
This would be the moment of truth.  
  
“I'll be waiting,” Ratchet replied, and the comm clicked off.  
  
Grimlock refused to admit he was shaking, but there was a trembling in his frame he couldn't cease. He locked his office door behind him and headed for the medical bay. He didn't let himself ruminate on the possibilities.  
  
Ratchet would fix it. He could fix anything.  
  
Ratchet met him at the door, his expression neutral of emotion, and Grimlock refused to take that for an answer. He ignored the way his spark dropped into his tank and followed his creator to a small room, what appeared to be an unassigned office. Grimlock hadn't seen Knock Out, so he assumed the medic was either resting or watching over Starscream.  
  
He forewent the offer of a rickety chair. Grimlock would rather be standing for this.  
  
“Can you fix him?” Grimlock asked before Ratchet could even start. He focused on his speech-patterns, clinging to that need to concentrate to keep himself from falling apart.  
  
Ratchet audibly cycled a ventilation. “That is a complicated question, and the answer is much the same.” He leaned a hip against the desk, folding his arms over his windshield. “I know what's causing the system shutdowns.”  
  
Grimlock inclined his helm. “Knock Out suspected a virus.”  
  
“He is a halfway decent medic, and he was correct. It is a virus,” Ratchet confirmed, and there was anger beneath the softness of his vocals. “It is unlike anything I have ever seen before. It is neither Autobot nor Decepticon, and like Knock Out said, it is slowly shutting down his autonomic processes. We've managed to halt its progress, but that's a temporary measure.”  
  
Grimlock locked his knees, if only to keep his legs from crumbling beneath him. “What happens next?”  
  
Ratchet sighed and palmed his face. “If we can't find the antivirus, it will continue to shut down every system until he is living on the machines alone. After that, it will go after his coding, systematically deleting everything. He'll be a blank slate, a non-functioning blank slate. After that...”  
  
Ratchet lowered his hand and cycled a ventilation. He stared up at Grimlock, meeting his gaze in full. “I could, theoretically, keep him alive indefinitely with those machines. But once his cores are wiped, it won't matter. There won't be anything of Starscream left.”  
  
He would be a shell of a Seeker. A frame without function, without presence. He wouldn't be the mech Grimlock loved, except a dim echo. A fraction of core memories stored in his spark.  
  
That was the worst case scenario.  
  
His spark squeezed. He unlocked his knees, blindly groping for the rickety chair and sinking into it.  
  
“Options?”  
  
“I'm not a programmer,” Ratchet said, and there was reluctance in his tone. “I've already called Wheeljack and Perceptor both, but I can't bring either of them here. They'll do what they can in Polyhex and send me the results.”  
  
Grimlock braced his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands. “I'm sensing a 'but'.”  
  
There was a creak of old hydraulics before Ratchet crouched in front of him, resting his hands over Grimlock's. “We're going to need help,” he admitted. “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't even suggest it, but we're running short of time. And there are few scientific minds left alive.”  
  
Ice frosted around the edges of his spark. Grimlock raised his helm, meeting the reluctant gaze of his creator. “You want Shockwave.”  
  
“I suspect the only reason he's still alive is because he can be of use,” Ratchet said, which was an admission in itself. His hands tightened over Grimlock's. “I don't like it anymore than you do, Grimlock. We tried to work around it, but the truth is, Starscream doesn't have the time, and I need every mind I can.”  
  
Grimlock's engine rumbled. His tank churned. He doubted Shockwave would offer his assistance for free. Could he justify that to himself, to Swoop, to the other Autobots who had suffered under Shockwave's scalpel?  
  
Was one spark worth their pain?  
  
Grimlock bowed his helm, visor dimming. He knew Ratchet would not have even mentioned it if he did not have any more options. But that was another consequence of this war – there were too few Cybertronians educated in anything useful but killing everyone.  
  
“And the Constructicons?”  
  
“No. They are builders first, medics second,” Ratchet said. “They know very little of coding. The only one I suspect would be of any use is Hook, and I wouldn't trust anything that comes out of his mouth. Shockwave has no morals, but he won't lie. He values science, not faction.”  
  
Grimlock cycled several ventilations. This was his decision to make. He couldn't pin it on anyone else. He knew what Cyclonus would say. He knew what Thundercracker would say.  
  
He needed Starscream. Grimlock couldn't do this without him.  
  
A warm hand pressed to the side of his face. Grimlock looked up, meeting his creator's optics.  
  
“Optimus will understand,” Ratchet said gently. “First Aid will, too. I will handle the rest.”  
  
“Shockwave hurt Swoop,” Grimlock said and was ashamed that his voice crackled with static. He felt at once small, like a newspark in an unfamiliar frame that was too big, too ungainly, and his processor not-quite-right.  
  
“He hurt a lot of mechs,” Ratchet agreed. “And we both know he's never going to feel guilty enough to apologize or make things right. But if he can help us make an anti-virus, then letting him live won't hurt as much.”  
  
He knew Ratchet was right. He still felt selfish for wanting this, for wanting Starscream. He hadn't set out to take control of the Decepticons. He'd only wanted revenge, to hurt the one who had hurt him in return.  
  
He hadn't been prepared for this burden, but he accepted it because to do otherwise would cause more pain in the process. He hadn't expected to enjoy himself. He hadn't expected to thrive here. But he'd known, buried in all the accomplishment, it would come to this. The hard decision.  
  
The Decepticons needed Starscream. That much he knew. Cyclonus was a competent third in command, and while Grimlock was certain one of the other Seekers could step into Starscream's place as air commander, he didn't know who could succeed Starscream as his second. There was no one competent enough, who understood the Decepticons and what they originally stood for.  
  
The Decepticons needed Starscream, but… Grimlock did, too.  
  
He worked his intake and rebooted his vocalizer, clearing the static. “I will go talk to him immediately and bring him here once we reach a compromise I'm willing to accept,” Grimlock finally said.  
  
Maybe it was the selfish thing to do. But Grimlock couldn't imagine a world where he decided otherwise. And he realized, probably too late for his own comfort, that it was a distinctly Optimus decision, too.  
  
Perhaps he was more like the Autobot leader than he thought.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: "Human," Of Monsters and Men

Grimlock never thought he’d find himself visiting Shockwave in the brig while intending to ask the immoral scientist for assistance. Every fibre of his being loathed Shockwave, not the least of which for what he'd done to Swoop. There was no one in either faction who wanted Shockwave to be released.   
  
Not even the Autobots were feeling particularly merciful.   
  
But Starscream had been practical, and Grimlock had echoed him. Shockwave was abhorrent, but he was useful. He was brilliant. He had a mind they couldn't afford to lose. So Grimlock had let him rot in the brig as a temporary measure until they could figure out how to preserve his mind, but keep him from harming any others.   
  
Punishment, after all, was worthless. Ineffective. Shockwave felt no remorse and not even imprisonment could convince him to change his ways. He remained certain that he would eventually be released.   
  
Grimlock loathed that Shockwave had turned out to be right.   
  
Scourge, the brig warden appointed by Cyclonus as he was also Cyclonus' second in command, waited for Grimlock in the receiving area. There were fewer permanent residents of the brig than there used to be, but enough that there was a steady rotation of personnel to serve as guards. Like Shockwave, these prisoners waited for Grimlock to take the time to do something about them.   
  
They were very low on his priority list.   
  
“For a mech no one likes, Shockwave gets the most visitors,” Scourge commented in a dour tone. The odd decoration on his upper lip bounced as he spoke.   
  
“He's the only useful one of the lot,” Grimlock grunted. “Did he offer any resistance?”   
  
“No, my lord.” Scourge gestured toward the interrogation hall, where they had three rooms for such purposes. “If it weren't for the fact he didn't have a face, I'd swear the fragger was smirking at me. Like he knows why I pulled him out.”   
  
Grimlock's engine growled. No doubt Shockwave did. He knew they'd need him eventually. All he had to do was wait.   
  
“I'm sure he does,” Grimlock muttered.   
  
Scourge paused in front of the first door. “He's in here. Want me to stay outside?”   
  
“No. I'll be fine. Depending on how this goes, I may take custody of him,” Grimlock said. He pulled a datapad out of subspace and handed it to the warden. “Details are on here.”   
  
“Yes, sir. Good luck.”   
  
He was probably going to need it.   
  
Cycling a ventilation, Grimlock keyed the door to the interrogation room open and stepped inside. It slid and locked behind him. It wasn't that he thought Shockwave would try to escape. He would have done so already.   
  
The scientist sat on the other side of a narrow table. Knock Out had divested him of his blaster arm long ago, and the stump of it rested innocuously on the table. Shockwave wasn't cuffed, but he did wear an inhibitor claw, like the rest of the long-term residents of the brig. He held a datapad in his other hand, one of the few the prisoners had been allowed, though they were stripped of all data and were self-contained, incapable of accessing the larger datanet.   
  
“After months of dealing with Cyclonus, I am pleased to see that I have finally gained the attention of my new lord,” Shockwave said as he set down the datapad, helm lifting so that his single optic could focus on Grimlock. “Congratulations.”   
  
Grimlock performed a systems check and pulled out the only chair remaining. He lowered himself down to it, never taking his gaze off of Shockwave. “You aren't upset?”   
  
“Megatron was a means to an end,” Shockwave replied in a tone devoid of emotion. And everyone thought Soundwave was the drone. “He gave me freedom that the Autobots would not, and he had resources I could not gain among the Neutrals. I also thought he was my best option for surviving the war and continuing my research unimpeded. But was I attached to him? Only distantly.”   
  
Disgust welled up within him, and Grimlock had to swallow it back down. There were many things he loathed about both sides of the war, but at least they all had the decency to support _something_. “You're not loyal to anyone, are you?”  
  
Shockwave lifted his helm, his yellow optic boring through Grimlock's visor. “To myself and to science, the only things I measure of worth.” His single hand made a vague gesture toward Grimlock. “But you're not here to ask me about my loyalties, are you? You are here because you want something from me.”   
  
Grimlock narrowed the light of his visor. He did not know he could loathe Shockwave anymore than he already did. “I have been informed that you are something of a skilled scientist, that you have talents in… coding.”   
  
“I would ask who told you, but I can guess.” Shockwave shifted his weight, leaning forward to brace himself against the edge of the table. “You have seen my work. I suppose that should speak for itself. Your companion, Swoop, was it? He's higher functioning now, isn't he?”   
  
“That's not the point!” Grimlock snapped. His hand curled into a fist he narrowly stopped himself from slamming into the table top. “He didn't need to be fixed. He was fine the way he was.”   
  
Shockwave tilted his helm, his tone so carefully mild Grimlock's tank clenched with disgust again. “No one is happy the way they are, Grimlock. Surely you of all mechs would know that. Everyone wants to change. To be different. Better.”   
  
Grimlock's engine growled. “That may be true. But it is not up to you to decide that. No one asked for your help.”   
  
“Ah.” Shockwave's optic brightened. “But that is where you are wrong. Because that is why you are here now, isn't it? To ask for my help.”   
  
It was for Starscream. Grimlock had to remind himself of this several times. If the circumstances weren't dire, he absolutely would slap Shockwave back into his cell and leave him to rust.   
  
Grimlock leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “We are in need of an anti-virus. As you are the one on this planet with the most experience in coding, it is on you to make it.”   
  
“That is assuming I wish to do so.”   
  
Anger ticked through Grimlock's engine. “What do you want?” It was as he assumed. Shockwave would only cooperate if given proper incentive.  
  
Shockwave's optic brightened again. “Full access to my laboratory. Full privileges to the local and galactic datanet. And the freedom to continue my experiments unimpeded.”   
  
“Absolutely not.” Grimlock rose to his pedes slowly, using his greater height and mass to loom over Shockwave.   
  
He didn't even need to think about this. He wanted to save Starscream, he honestly did. There were many sacrifices he was willing to make to do so. But to essentially release Shockwave, return everything to him, and let him continue his research without oversight? The implication being that Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Swoop, and Mirage would also be returned to him.   
  
Absolutely not. Grimlock would go to Metalhawk and start tearing down walls before he conceded any of those terms to Shockwave.   
  
“Then we are at an impasse.”   
  
Grimlock leaned forward, glaring at the scientist. “We are not. Because I have options that maybe aren't politically sound but will get me answers. Whereas if you don't cooperate at all, there are deeper prison cells where you will never see the light of the stars again,” he stated, each word precisely placed. “So try it again. What do you want?”   
  
Shockwave's stub shifted. “Perhaps, Lord Grimlock, you would be better off stating what I am allowed.”   
  
Grimlock braced his weight on the table. “I will allow you a limited parole,” he said, though it was with much reluctance. “It will be supervised by a mech that I deem acceptable. You will allow yourself to be tagged and surveilled. And if you show you are willing to cooperate, and I can find a purpose for you once this task is complete, I may be willing to consider extending you more freedom.”   
  
It wasn't much, he knew. But it was also better than remaining locked in a cell for the rest of his functioning. They were both at an impasse. Grimlock wanted Shockwave's help, and Shockwave wanted to be free. They would have to compromise.   
  
“Define limited,” Shockwave said after a long moment.   
  
“No shackles, but you're keeping the inhibitor.”   
  
“And my weapon?”   
  
Grimlock lowered his helm and met Shockwave's gaze. “Non-negotiable. Though if you're that desperate, I'm sure Knock Out can whip you up another hand.”   
  
He doubted Shockwave intended to go on a shooting rampage, but fighting his way free, stealing their only functional non-sentient transport and vanishing into the galaxy? That was a real possibility.   
  
“I will not be able to defend myself without a weapon.”   
  
“You won't need to. Your parole officer will provide defense.”   
  
“Who will this officer be?”   
  
“I haven't decided.”   
  
Shockwave cycled a ventilation and shifted back in his chair, lengthening the distance between them. “I insist upon another scientist or someone of passable intelligence.”   
  
Grimlock barely kept from laughing. “It depends on who can be spared. They're not there to join you in your research, but to keep tabs on you.”   
  
“Pity. I could have used an assistant.” Shockwave rapped his fingers on the table. “Who's the victim?”   
  
“Who said there was one?”   
  
“You did. When you came to me with this desperate request.” The scientist tilted his helm, and his optic dimmed. “My guess is that it is Starscream. He certainly worked his claws under your plating fast, didn't he, my lord?”   
  
Grimlock growled before he could stop himself. “The victim in question is not what is important here. Are you going to provide assistance or not?” It took everything he had not to reach across the table and throttle Shockwave.   
  
Shockwave leaned as far as the chair would allow. “In exchange for limited parole, where I will be watched like a sparkling no doubt, and given limited access to my lab.”   
  
“To a lab, not necessarily your own,” Grimlock clarified.   
  
“Hm.” Shockwave pondered for a moment before rising to his pedes with a creak of gears in need of maintenance. “Very well. I will render assistance under the parameters you've outlined.”   
  
Grimlock stared at him. “Without further negotiation.”   
  
“None will be necessary. Once you've seen that I am more useful within my laboratory than outside it, I am quite certain you will adjust the terms of my release.” Shockwave held out his full hand to seal the agreement.   
  
Grimlock did not trust him at all. He would have to ensure whoever he assigned to watch over Shockwave was a mech who could be trusted. Not to mention one who was not easily manipulated.   
  
Well. Slag had been saying he wanted something more to do than guard duty. All Grimlock had to do was pair him up with someone more used to manipulation and there, problem solved.   
  
“That remains to be seen.” Grimlock tilted his helm in acceptance of the deal. A handshake would not be necessary. “Come with me to the medbay. You can begin there.”   
  
Shockwave moved around the table, his field unfurling from a tight clench. It tapped against Grimlock's own as if they had become friends. “You will see, Lord Grimlock. I can be just as useful to you as I was to Lord Megatron. He offered me free rein and so shall you eventually.”   
  
Grimlock locked his tone. “We will see.” Not only did he find it highly unlikely, but he would actively seek to make certain that Shockwave's freedom be kept as limited as possible.   
  
He had enough loose cannons running around Iacon as it was. He didn't want another. It was going to be difficult enough explaining this to the Autobots without the added insult of having Shockwave wander around without restriction.   
  
No, no, and no.   
  
Grimlock keyed open the door and gestured for Shockwave to follow him into the hall, where Scourge waited patiently.   
  
“Have someone escort Shockwave to the medical bay and hand him over to Knock Out's custody,” Grimlock said as the scientist emerged from the interrogation room, his field reeking of victory. “The inhibitor must remain. Assign a guard to stay with him as well. He has work to do.”   
  
Scourge's optics narrowed, but he tilted his helm in a bow. “Yes, Lord Grimlock. I will see to it at once.”   
  
“Thank you, Scourge.”   
  
He left Shockwave in Scourge's custody. He had an immediate urge to visit the washracks, to cleanse himself of being in Shockwave's presence. The scientist was vile in ways that Megatron could never match. Grimlock loathed that he'd had to resort to Shockwave's assistance.   
  
For Starscream's sake, he would swallow his pride.   
  


~

  
  
Swoop was the smallest of the Dinobots. That still left him larger than Skywarp and Thundercracker independently of each other. It usually left him on the bottom of the pile in the berth, because not only was he larger, he was heavier, with thicker armor. His sleek design belied the mass beneath his plating.   
  
Skywarp tended to tease him about it, but usually in a manner that suggested he found it adorable.   
  
They were worried, understandably so, which was probably why Swoop found himself with a lapful of Seekers. He'd come to offer his support, and they'd taken it gladly. Even though, up until this moment, Swoop hadn't realized the Command Trine was so close.   
  
“We didn't use to be,” Thundercracker explained as he rested his helm on Swoop's chestplate, his wings draped against his back. Skywarp, by contrast, had his helm on Swoop's abdomen.  
  
“Because of collateral damage,” Skywarp murmured. His arms wound around Swoop's waist as their legs tangled together. Swoop could feel the pulse of his spark vibrating against Swoop's hip. “It was dangerous, you know, to be close to Starscream, especially whenever Megatron was nearby.”   
  
“We were a weakness, one Megatron could exploit,” Thundercracker murmured, his optics drifting closed, especially when Swoop took to stroking the back of his wings. Not with the intent to arouse, but merely to soothe. “So he pushed us away. Made us hate him. And it worked.”   
  
“Him Starscream protect you,” Swoop said, though it was more of an observation than a discussion.   
  
Skywarp and Thundercracker rarely talked about their relationship with Starscream. Even rarer, they talked about Starscream and Megatron. It was one of those hulking ghosts in the corner, a rusty mechanism everyone preferred to pretend did not exist.   
  
“I guess.” Skywarp shrugged and rubbed his cheek against Swoop's abdominal armor. “Not that he'd ever admit it. Starscream doesn't like weaknesses.”   
  
“More like, him Megatron would hurt him Starscream for it,” Swoop said, his thumb stroking Thundercracker's wing hinges. His other hand rested on Skywarp's helm. “Him Starscream complicated mech.”   
  
Thundercracker snorted. “Tell me something I don't know.” He shifted, burrowing closer to Swoop's plating.   
  
It was kind of nice, Swoop reflected, to be the one they leaned on rather than the other way around. How their friendship had come about seemed unlikely. The next step toward romantic entanglement even more so. He wasn't even sure when it happened, when he went from feeling grateful they granted him a few moments of their time, to the two of them inviting him without any prompting on Starscream's part.   
  
He supposed there was just something about Dinobots that Seekers liked. The thought made him chuckle.   
  
“What?” Skywarp asked, tilting his helm to look up at Swoop.   
  
“Nothing,” Swoop replied. “Inside joke. You Skywarp recharge now.”   
  
“Pfft. It's the middle of the day. Why would I do that?” Skywarp retorted, but his helm tilted back against Swoop's hip. His energy field remained that distressing, tangled mess.   
  
Both he and Thundercracker were very worried about Starscream, only they didn't want to admit it. Megatron had done as much damage to their trine as he had to Starscream alone.   
  
“Because you Skywarp didn't recharge last night,” Swoop said. “You Thundercracker didn't either.”   
  
“Lord Grimlock had us chasing ghosts. Trying to figure out who infected Starscream,” Thundercracker muttered. “I guess he figured if he wasn't getting any sleep, none of us needed to either.”   
  
“Him Grimlock worried, too,” Swoop said.   
  
His spark ached for his eldest brother, but no matter how much he tried to coax Grimlock into a little recharge, he'd been ignored. So he'd opted to tend to someone who would at least let him help.  
  
They made a noncommittal noise, each opting for comfort and silence instead. That was, until Thundercracker stirred, cursing subvocally.   
  
“What is it?” Skywarp asked as Thundercracker started to extricate himself from the tangle of three different sets of limbs.   
  
“I have that meeting. With Lord Grimlock. Filling in for Starscream, remember?” Thundercracker said, his dissatisfaction clear in his field as he slid off the berth.   
  
“I remember. Better you than me,” Skywarp said as he wriggled, all but climbing up Swoop's frame to usurp Thundercracker's position and cover more of Swoop's armor with his own. “We'll be here. Waiting for you then.”   
  
Thundercracker gave them both a long look. “I should make you come instead of Sunstorm. Then we can both suffer.”   
  
“Him Starscream trust you,” Swoop said as he caught and held Thundercracker's hand, giving it a squeeze. “It temporary job.”   
  
“I know.” Thundercracker's lips twitched toward a smile. He squeezed Swoop's hand back and then gently worked his way free. “So the two of you better behave until I get back. I'm looking at you Skywarp.”   
  
Skywarp nuzzled into Swoop's intake. “I'm not the one with wandering hands,” he retorted, at the same time Swoop's hand found its way to the base of his spinal strut, resting there.   
  
Swoop laughed and patted Skywarp on the bum. “Him Skywarp not wrong.”   
  
“Well, the both of you better behave then,” Thundercracker retorted as he gave his frame a brief once-over, half-sparkedly wiping at a scrape on his upper thigh. Fortunately, it could easily be passed off as belonging to Skywarp. “Just remember who his eldest brother is, Warp.”   
  
Skywarp huffed.   
  
Swoop chuckled and leaned his helm against Skywarp's. “Me Swoop watch him. You go. Him Grimlock don't like tardiness.”   
  
“Yeah. I know.” Thundercracker sighed and scraped a hand over his helm. “I'll be back. You two have fun without me.”   
  
He left, and in his absence, Skywarp squirmed all the closer. “I'll just stay here,” he murmured.   
  
Swoop pretended not to notice that Skywarp clutched at him a bit stronger. He didn't mind being the shoulder they leaned on. He was glad to return the favor.   
  


~

  
  
The snatches of recharge he'd caught on a spare berth in the medbay were not enough. He felt the lack as it pulled his shoulders toward the ground, sitting heavy in his frame. He consumed medical energon to stay focused, but knew eventually, he would have to recharge in full.   
  
For now, however, there was the command staff meeting. He could put it off no longer and indeed, Grimlock did not want to. He needed to find answers. He needed to explain why there was a shift in the command structure. He needed to remain the Decepticon leader that they expected of him, without allowing his personal feelings to interfere.   
  
Grimlock arrived in the conference room first, but Cyclonus was not far behind him. Grimlock had kept his third apprised of the basics of the situation, but not the specifics.   
  
“How is Starscream?” Cyclonus asked as he took a seat.   
  
Grimlock selected his own chair and carefully lowered himself into it. “Alive,” he answered and cycled a ventilation. “For now.”   
  
“I am relieved to hear it.” Cyclonus set two datapads on the table, his gaze focused on Grimlock. “I am also relieved that the Autobot medic was willing to render aid, but I am concerned that it may reflect badly in a more political venue.”   
  
“Let Metalhawk whine his complaints. This is not an official favor from the Autobots. Ratchet is here as a favor to me, personally, and he will swear that under oath.” Grimlock rapped his fingers on the table. “As far as Optimus and the Autobots are concerned, Ratchet has taken a temporary leave of absence. Right now, he's not an Autobot. He's a medic.”   
  
“That explanation will suffice.” Cyclonus pulled a datapad back into reach and powered it on, clawed fingertips tapping across the screen. “I'll go ahead and draft an official statement. We will likely also have to address Shockwave's release.”  
  
Grimlock shook his helm. “He is neither released nor on probation. He is allowed to offer his assistance in hopes to earn himself a probation.”   
  
Cyclonus' lips quirked. “I'm not sure that's the deal how he heard it.”   
  
“Oh?” Grimlock tilted his helm. “Perhaps he heard wrong.”   
  
The door opened again, admitting Thundercracker and Sunstorm, the latter whom Grimlock included as assistant to Thundercracker so that he wasn't taking on both of the titles Starscream held. Though it was a curious thing that Thundercracker had asked for Sunstorm to inherit the title of Interim Air Commander and not Acid Storm, who was the prior Air Commander of Cybertron.   
  
“We're not late, are we?” Sunstorm asked with something of a lopsided smile. His wings twitched behind, the lights reflecting off his yellow paint so that it made the room brighter.   
  
“No. You're right on time. Pick a seat,” Grimlock answered, ignoring the look Cyclonus directed his way. Yes, he was playing word games with Shockwave. No, he did not feel guilty about it.   
  
He was a Decepticon, wasn't he? It was in the name.   
  
Thundercracker and Sunstorm chose a stool each, and Grimlock became the focus of their undivided attention. That the seat to Grimlock's right was empty was all too noticeable for its silence. He tended to let Starscream lead the command meetings as Megatron had set the precedent for preferring Starscream not speak at all.   
  
Now, he was on his own.   
  
“I know you are all aware of the basics,” Grimlock began after a cycled ventilation. “Yes, Starscream was attacked. No, we don't know who or how, though I can guess why.”   
  
“You have already ruled out Decepticon perpetrators?” Sunstorm asked, his lips pulling into a slight frown.   
  
Grimlock inclined his helm. “Not entirely. I am aware Starscream has few friends and allies among the Decepticons, but I would hope that not a single one of them were foolish enough to make this sort of mistake. Unless you know of anyone in particular with a grudge?”   
  
“The only one who ever had a finger on the spark-pulse of every Decepticon was Soundwave,” Thundercracker answered as he rubbed a palm down his faceplate. “He knew every grudge, every alliance, every owed bet...”   
  
“Our Special Operations Division is in shambles,” Cyclonus said. “Every previous member has either defected, received discharge, or has been locked up in the brig. We have no Intelligence division, no Intelligence operatives, and no one to train those who might volunteer.”   
  
Grimlock rubbed his palm over his helm. “None of your crew are suitable?”   
  
Cyclonus laced his fingers together on top of his datapad. “There are a few with the requisite aptitude, but none have the training. My contingent is formed of warriors, not spies. Megatron tended to keep his intelligent officers close.”   
  
“Shockwave preferred his drones when it came to operatives,” Sunstorm offered, though it wasn't much assistance. “As it stands, the Autobots outnumber us when it comes to spies and saboteurs.”   
  
“It wasn't the Autobots,” Grimlock said.   
  
Cyclonus tilted his helm. “You don't know that.”   
  
“Yes, I do.” Grimlock leaned forward and braced his weight on the edge of the table. “I know Optimus Prime. I know Jazz. I know that Optimus would never condone assassination and even if he did, Jazz would not be this sloppy. Besides, as it stands, their Spec Ops division may have more members as a whole, but they only have one who is active. Ergo, it was not the Autobots.”  
  
“Which leaves us with one truly potential perpetrator,” Sunstorm said with a flick of his wings. “Which I am quite sure we all intend to blame anyway. We only need to prove it.”   
  
Grimlock lowered his helm. “Yes. Metalhawk has made it clear he wants to take Cybertron for himself and the Neutrals. He'll tolerate the Autobots if he must, but he wants us gone.”   
  
“The Autobots will be next regardless. You can rest assured he has a plan in place for them as well,” Cyclonus commented. Clawed fingers rapped a nonsense rhythm on the table. “What I am most interested in discovering is how this deed was accomplished, whether or not he intends to strike again, and why Starscream.”   
  
“Because Star is the processor of the Decepticons,” Thundercracker said with a deep frown. “No offense, my lord, but you have made it a point to convince others to underestimate you. They believe you the brawn and Starscream the brains, so to speak.”   
  
Grimlock waved a dismissive hand. “No offense taken for that was my intent. So. They thought to cripple the Decepticons then.”   
  
“Not just that,” Sunstorm said with a thoughtful tilt of his helm. “Metalhawk knows he can't take us on directly. But he also knows we are two factions formerly at war, sharing resources in what he considers an uneasy alliance.”   
  
“Uneasy,” Grimlock echoed and snorted a ventilation. “He doesn't know us very well, does he?”  
  
“No. He does not.” Cyclonus sounded dour, but then, didn't he always? “We do need proof, however. We need to discover the 'how'.”   
  
Grimlock folded his arms on the table. “I have an idea. I've been informed that the Combaticons are becoming friendly with Metalhawk's Neutrals, perhaps upon the Prime's command. But they are a Neutral party unto their own. If I offer something of equal value, they can seek information for us as well.”   
  
“It will not be a conflict of interest?” Thundercracker asked. He was one of many who questioned the Combaticons' loyalty.   
  
Grimlock shook his helm. “Their interest is solely to themselves, and whoever pays them more, though I believe Autobots and Decepticons get first choice over the Neutrals.”   
  
“Then we will see what information they can offer,” Cyclonus said, making a note on his datapad. “When the time comes.”  
  
“That being said, I want to know how Starscream was affected,” Grimlock continued, his gaze moving from one member of his command staff to the other. “He doesn't trust anyone and he's paranoid with good reason. Therefore, it had to be a Decepticon who passed the virus to him, either knowingly or unknowingly. Retrace his steps. Figure out who he had contact with.” He leaned forward, the light in his visor narrowing. “Give me a name.”   
  
Sunstorm's wings twitched. “And after?” His helm tilted, his expression neutral. “When you find the perpetrator, what then?”   
  
“They will face justice for their crimes,” Grimlock said.   
  
And depending on Starscream's fate and how angry he was at the time, said perpetrator might actually live to do just that.   
  
Sunstorm’s lips curved ever so slightly downward. “So long as we are clear.”   
  
“The Decepticons are no longer a lawless society.” Cyclonus shuffled his datapads with the sort of focus usually reserved for sharp-shooting or making involved calculations. “We do need to keep a civil approach.”   
  
“Of course.” Grimlock waved a hand. “Dismissed.”   
  
No one argued, but neither did they linger. They left him alone rather quickly, without so much as a backward glance.   
  
Maybe the frenetic rasp of his energy field had something to do with it. He doubted it was the urgency of the situation.   
  
Grimlock sighed and leaned against the table, bracing his upper body on the surface. He wanted to bury himself in the scuffed metal. He cycled several ventilations.   
  
The silence of the conference room wrapped around him, ice cold. The empty chairs stared back. The place Starscream should have sat was noticeably empty. Post-meeting was usually the Seeker's favorite time to flirt, though Grimlock never examined the meaning why. The former relationship between Starscream and Megatron was not something he wished to examine closely.   
  
He ought to be recharging. He ought to walk out of this conference room, return to his quarters, and recharge in his berth.   
  
He wouldn't have to do so alone. He could, as he'd once teased Starscream, crawl into the berths of one of his Dinobot brothers. Swoop would welcome him without question. Slag would grump but make room. Snarl wouldn't even wake up, but his field would offer solace. Sludge would have pulled him into an embrace whether Grimlock liked it or not.   
  
Grimlock shook off the melancholy of the last. He would not lose Starscream as he had Sludge. He refused.   
  
He was also not going to recharge.   
  
Instead, he turned around and went the opposite direction, back toward the medical bay. There wasn't anything urgent he needed to attend; the others had it well in hand. He could take a moment for himself, to stop and ventilate, to perhaps look at Starscream without his spark squeezing into a tiny knot.   
  
He doubted he'd be capable of the last.   
  
Just after third shift, the halls were empty. No one bothered Grimlock, and he found the medical bay in peace. No one waited in reception, which meant Knock Out had either finished all of his maintenance appointments, or had opted to reschedule them.   
  
Grimlock stepped into the main bay and halted in surprise. He cycled his visor twice to ensure he wasn't hallucinating as a result of recharge deprivation.   
  
“What you Snarl doing here?” he asked, flabbergasted.   
  
Sure enough, the other Dinobot was perched at one of the desks shoved against the wall. He hunched over the top of it, several lamps directed toward the surface of the desk.   
  
“Me Snarl working,” his brother answered without turning to acknowledge Grimlock. “Me Snarl helping him Knock Out.”   
  
“….What?” He didn't know if he couldn't fathom that because he was so exhausted, or if it genuinely didn't make a credit of sense.   
  
Snarl's spines twitched. “Me Snarl fix broken thing.” One hand gestured, holding a sodering iron between two fingers, before he focused his attention back on whatever he was repairing.   
  
The door to the private medical rooms opened, revealing Knock Out, who blinked at Grimlock, but didn't stop moving.   
  
“Snarl is a great help, my lord,” the medic said as he carried in something broken and dumped it on the desk in front of Snarl. He rested a hand on the Dinobot's shoulders. “If you don't mind, I'd like to take him on as a full member of the medical division.”   
  
If Grimlock had a jaw, it would have dropped. “So long as that's what he wants, I see no problem with it. I'll have Cyclonus make the changes in his file.”   
  
“Me Snarl do good job,” Snarl said with a harrumph. “Me Snarl want stay here.”   
  
Grimlock cycled his audials. “Very well.” When he'd told Snarl to go make friends, this was not what he had expected at all. He would have never guessed it, especially considering that it was with Knock Out of all mechs.   
  
He turned his attention to Knock Out. He'd worry about sitting down with Snarl and having a conversation later. There were larger issues now. “How is Starscream?”   
  
“No change.” Knock Out folded his arms over his chestplate. “With some help, I managed some rearranging. You can go in to see him, if you like.”   
  
“Any progress on a cure?”   
  
Knock Out's expression softened, almost to the point Grimlock felt he was genuinely concerned. “No, my lord. But we are all optimistic.”   
  
Grimlock cycled a ventilation. “Carry on then. I'll see myself to his room.”   
  
He left Knock Out and Snarl behind, and sought out Starscream's room. Sure enough, the machinery had been rearranged to make it easier for the medics to reach Starscream through the cables. Medics and visitors, Grimlock assumed, considering that a narrow chair had been arranged at Starscream's berthside.   
  
He was still careful as he eased into the room and lowered himself down into the tiny, uncomfortable chair. It creaked alarmingly, and something cracked, but it held his weight. It would have to do.   
  
He looked at Starscream, more clearly this time, and his spark squeezed into a tiny ball. He seemed delicate right now, and Grimlock was not accustomed to this. Even when turned into a beaten, bleeding mess because of Megatron's assaults, Starscream had looked defiant and strong. No matter how many times he'd been thrown to the ground.   
  
Now… now he looked small. Fragile. Grimlock feared touching him, but couldn't bring himself not to. One of Starscream's hands was free of wires and cables, save for a single shunt in his wrist. Grimlock carefully took it, wincing at the slight chill. Starscream always was colder than Grimlock.   
  
He used it as an excuse whenever Grimlock teased him about enjoying their cuddles.   
  
Grimlock cycled a ventilation and held Starscream's hand between his own. It was all he dared touch. He bowed his helm, and listened, counting the steady whumps of the machine that managed Starscream's ventilations. He counted the constant beeping of the other machines, those that regulated his coolant, his energon, his spark pulse.   
  
He was still angry. But he didn't spare the energy for that. Instead, he prayed. To whoever he felt would listen.   
  
Wasn't it time? Weren't they owed a chance? Hadn't he worked hard to take this planet back? To set it on the right course? Didn't he deserve a break?   
  
So many questions. Too many questions.   
  
Grimlock offlined his optics and focused on the sound of Starscream's ventilations. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the quiet beat of Starscream's spark. He focused on that as well. It reminded him Starscream was alive, and as long as he was alive, there was hope.   
  
He didn't much believe in prayer, but right now, he'd offer up a few lines if it meant earning a spot of good fortune.   
  
The ping disturbed his half-twilight state. Grimlock roused himself from a doze, sitting up slowly. His systems were slow to stir, proving he needed recharge, and this brief nap had not been satisfactory.   
  
He hadn't been out for long and ow, there was a pinched line in his neck now. Grimlock straightened, his hands still wrapped around one of Starscream's. His Intended hadn't moved, hadn't stirred, but the steady beeps of the machines were comforting. He wasn't better, but he wasn't worse either.   
  
Grimlock's comm pinged again.   
  
He cycled a ventilation and worked one hand free, activating his comm. “Grimlock here. What is it?”   
  
The voice that came through was unfamiliar. “I am sorry to disturb you, sir. But we have picked up something on our long-range monitors that I think you need to see.”   
  
He checked the ident code and realized it belonged to Krok, the commander from the _Weak Anthropic Principle_. His crew had called themselves the Scavengers. They'd all eventually assimilated into the Decepticons. Cyclonus must have been satisfied for him to approve Krok working the command center.   
  
“I'll be there shortly,” Grimlock replied as a bolt of alarm rippled through his frame. He ended the comm and took a moment to ventilate.   
  
What now? Did he not have enough troubles without some extraterrestrial threat?   
  
Grimlock grudgingly worked his other hand free of Starscream's and shoved himself to his pedes. He bent down – carefully around the network of wires and lines – and pressed his forehelm to Starscream's.   
  
He would return, and hopefully, it would be to good news from Ratchet and the other medics and scientists working on the anti-virus.   
  
Grimlock eased himself out of the private room, though he did so reluctantly, and made sure the door locked behind him. The number of people with access to Starscream's room could be counted on his hand, and none of them were Shockwave. They still didn't know when, how, or who had infected Starscream with the virus. The perpetrator could be lingering somewhere, anxious to finish the job he'd bungled.   
  
Grimlock was not taking any chances.   
  
He sent a quick message to Ratchet, letting his creator know that he was stepping out and to keep an optic on Starscream, and then headed for the command center.   
  
It was mid-afternoon. All of New Iacon was bustling. There were few who knew of Starscream's current condition. Most of the Decepticons were continuing on with their new daily lives, focused on rebuilding, constructing, forming ties, running drills, et cetera. It was peaceful. Busy, but peaceful.   
  
Grimlock almost envied them that peace. Though it was better the infantry believe nothing was wrong than labor under the same anxiety that currently gripped Grimlock's command staff.   
  
He arrived at the command center expecting to find a flurry of panicked activity, but the situation appeared normal. Mechs were seated at their stations, monitoring their various tasks without a hint of concern. Krok – currently in command – noticed Grimlock immediately and tilted his upper half in a brief bow before he wordlessly gestured for Grimlock to follow him. He passed command briefly to his own second, a mech named Crankcase.   
  
“Crankcase was the first to pick up the message. I had him copy it to an external drive and delete it from the database before anyone else could access it,” Krok explained as they moved to a distant corner of the command center, out of direct audial range of the nearest soldier.   
  
Grimlock rebooted his visor, tilting his helm. “To what end?”   
  
“Because I didn't want to start a panic.” Krok approached the nearest console, one that was currently unstaffed and used as a backup in case one of their systems short-circuited – an often frequent occurrence. He pulled out a datachip, plugged it in, and brought up the data.   
  
“Every mech in the Decepticon army knows the threat of the DJD,” he continued as he activated several firewalls, isolating the data. “I so much as mention them and you'll see a mass exodus from all who can manage it.”   
  
Grimlock shifted his weight as he waited for the program to load. “I thought they were loyal to the vision of the Decepticons?”   
  
“The vision as led by Megatron. Without him, there aren't any Decepticons,” Krok stated as the message queued up. He delayed playing it to add, “At least, in the optics of Tarn. He's a loyalist through and through. I'm transmitting on Sigma. Let me know when you're ready.”   
  
Grimlock tapped into the comm line Krok indicated and nodded. He waited for the transmission to start, his visor dimming as deep, dulcet tones spilled from the recording, occasionally laced with static.   
  
_This message is for the mech I assume thinks he is the rightful lord of the Decepticons. As the leader of the Decepticon Justice Division, I do believe it is my right to test and see whether you are worthy. As of this broadcast, I am three cycles out from Cybertron and will arrive at my leisure. My team is looking forward to meeting you, former Autobot. I will call you 'Lord' when and only when I deem you worth that title. Tarn, out._   
  
The message fizzled into static before there was a click, and it repeated again. Grimlock dialed out of the comm lines, signaling for Krok to go ahead and shut it off. He had heard all he needed to hear. He wondered if he was supposed to be shaking in his pedes right now, if the mere idea of the DJD should send him running for the hills.   
  
“So you see why I called you.” Krok disengaged the datachip and handed it to Grimlock, no doubt for safekeeping.   
  
“I understand the need to prevent a panic,” Grimlock said as he peered at the tiny datachip, the short message on it meant to be intimidating. “I suppose Tarn expects that he's set the fear of Unicron inside me.”   
  
Krok stared up at him. “You're not the least bit worried.” It wasn't a question.   
  
“Should I be?”   
  
Krok shifted his weight. “Permission to speak freely?”   
  
Grimlock tilted his gaze toward the captain. “Granted, and in that regard, I'm not Megatron. I value the input of my command team. Their honest input.”   
  
“Then yes, my lord, you should be concerned. The DJD may not be Phase Sixers, but they are the closest thing to it.” Krok cycled a ventilation, his field leaking free with something that smacked of personal fear. “Their threat should not be taken lightly.”   
  
Considering that Krok feared a mass exodus as a result of the Decepticons in general learning of the DJD's arrival, perhaps Grimlock should take his advice. He refused to be afraid, but exercising a little caution was prudent.   
  
“I understand. Thank you, Krok, for the warning. And thank you for looking out for the well-being of the Decepticons,” Grimlock said. He closed his fingers around the datachip before tucking it into an arm panel. “I will discuss the threat shortly. For now, we will continue to keep it classified.”   
  
“Yes, sir.” Krok nodded and then shifted his weight. “For what it's worth, sir, I also hope Starscream's recovery is quick and sure.”   
  
“Thank you. I appreciate the well wishes.”   
  
Grimlock excused himself and left the command center, though he didn't know where to go. Back to his office? Back to his shared quarters with the Dinobots? Back to Starscream?   
  
His spark tugged him in far too many directions.   
  
But still, he knew there was only one place he wanted to be. He would chew on the matter of the DJD while he waited for news about Starscream.   
  
Back to the medbay he went.   
  


****


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Children of the Sun,” Thomas Bergersen ft. Merethe Soltvedt

Millennia spent in pseudo-command of the Decepticons had left Starscream paranoid, more paranoid than the average mech. When it came down to his daily itinerary, the only one who knew where Starscream intended to be was Starscream. Which meant tracking down every place he had been in a given day had to be done the old-fashioned way – by retracing his steps.  
  
“He said he'd gone to the medbay,” Skywarp said as he tapped his lips with two fingers.  
  
“If he'd been in the medbay, how did they not realize he was unwell?” Thundercracker asked as he peered at the datapad containing their notes on Starscream's behavior prior to falling out of the sky.  
  
There wasn't much. The only thing they did know for sure was that Starscream had arranged a meeting with Acid Storm and Sunstorm earlier that cycle. Grimlock said he hadn't seen Starscream since they went their separate ways that morning.  
  
“Maybe he wasn't getting examined?” Skywarp proposed, his wings twitching in restless intervals that grated on Thundercracker's patience. “You know how he is. If he gets hurt, he'd rather try and court Ratchet's good grace than depend on Knock Out.”  
  
Thundercracker sighed, rubbing at his forehelm. “Yes. I know.” If anything of note had occurred during Starscream's visit, he was sure Knock Out would have mentioned it. “Where was he before that?”  
  
“In a meeting probably.” Skywarp hitched himself onto a table, swinging his legs as he sat on the edge.  
  
“The one with Sunstorm?” Thundercracker flipped back to his notes, checking the time stamps. “No. That was beforehand. Who else could he have met with?”  
  
Skywarp rolled his helm, stretching out his neck. “That was midday energon, right? So he must have been holed up in his office.”  
  
“We'll have to double-check that. We log all codes in the command center, right?” Thundercracker asked. His processor began to ache. He started to curse Soundwave for leaving.  
  
“Well, we're supposed to,” Skywarp said, and his wings twitched. He rubbed at his forehelm. “Whether or not Starscream actually did is another matter. What did Sunstorm say?”  
  
“Nothing. I haven't asked him yet.”  
  
Skywarp huffed a ventilation and sagged in his chair. “Then why don't we start with him?” Fatigue lined Skywarp's field, fatigue and concern both. They had neither of them been recharging well, and worry about Starscream was not helping matters. While they’d spent many an hour cuddled with Swoop, not even the Dinobot’s steady field had been enough to encourage a deep, meaningful rest.  
  
“Fine.” Thudercracker shoved a datapad his trinemate's direction. “Then you try and figure out where he was in this gap.”  
  
“Don't we have cameras or something?”  
  
Thundercracker sighed. “Searching the hours of footage is our next step. Pray that we find something else first.”  
  
Skywarp muttered something subvocally, but Thundercracker didn't catch it. Which meant it did not matter.  
  
Ignoring him for the moment, Thundercracker pinged Sunstorm and waited for the other Seeker to respond. Perhaps he could shed some light on either Starscream's behavior, or the gaps in Starscream's schedule. Maybe Starscream mentioned something in passing.  
  
“Sunstorm here,” the bright yellow Seeker answered. “What can I do for you, sir?”  
  
“You can drop the 'sir' for starters,” Thundercracker said as he paged through one of Starscream's encrypted datapads, absently putting in code after code. Surely one of them could work. “You had a meeting with Starscream the day he dropped, right?”  
  
“Earlier, yes. Only I had to cancel at the last minute. Acid Storm went alone.”  
  
Thundercracker blinked. He sat up straight. “Beg pardon?” Given Acid Storm's barely concealed distaste for Starscream, he couldn't imagine that was a good idea.  
  
“Believe me, I wouldn't have asked if there wasn't a matter that needed my attention. I fully intended to be there,” Sunstorm replied. “But I spoke with Acid Storm, and he didn't mention anything of note.”  
  
Thundercracker's ventilations quickened. He exchanged a glance with Skywarp, already drawing an unfortunate suspicion. Acid Storm had made little secret of the fact he wasn't fond of Starscream and did not enjoy serving under Starscream.  
  
“Perhaps you weren't asking the right questions,” Thundercracker said quietly. “I'll contact him myself. Thank you, Sunstorm.”  
  
“Whatever you need, sir,” Sunstorm replied, and he indeed sounded earnest. “I want to catch whoever did this to Starscream, too. So if I think of anything, I'll give you a ping.”  
  
“See that you do.”  
  
Thundercracker ended the comm and looked at Skywarp again. “I hesitate to accuse a fellow Seeker of any misconduct but...”  
  
Skywarp shook his helm. “All you're doing is asking a question.” His engine growled. “And for Acid Storm's sake, he better have an acceptable answer.”  
  
Thundercracker rubbed a hand down his faceplate and pinged Acid Storm. There was no response. He pinged twice more, adding a commander-level override to the second one. No response.  
  
“He's not answering.”  
  
“Let me try.”  
  
A minute passed before Skywarp's frown deepened. “No. He's ignoring me, too. And I just checked the schedule, TC. He's off-shift, but not in recharge. There's no reason he shouldn't be answering, especially since we're all on alert.”  
  
Cyclonus was on duty. Thundercracker pinged him to ask if anyone had seen or heard from Acid Storm, all the while suspecting he wouldn't like the answer. While he waited for Cyclonus to check the logs, Thundercracker rose to his pedes.  
  
“Come on,” he said, striding from the small room.  
  
Skywap fell into step beside him. “Where are we going?”  
  
“To speak with Acid Storm directly.”  
  
The Seeker barracks were less than a minute away by air. Maybe they were overreacting, and Acid Storm was in recharge. Perhaps he was sparring in the lower levels and had turned off his comms to prevent distraction. Maybe he was a rare Seeker who didn't mind the sublevels, down where the signals didn't reach.  
  
Either way, Thundercracker wasn't going to stand around and wait.  
  
The moment they stepped out of the building, Thundercracker shot into the air in root mode. Skywarp rose beside him, and they turned toward the Seeker barracks. As they did so, however, Thundercracker saw a jet take flight from the roof, and streak through the air. From this distance, it was hard to tell color, and a questioning ping bounced back.  
  
“Skywarp.”  
  
“It's probably him,” his trinemate said with a note of disappointment.  
  
The Seeker, whoever he was, pointed in a direction which led directly out of New Iacon and straight toward Nova Cronum. Maybe it was coincidence.  
  
Thundercracker's comm pinged. It was Cyclonus.  
  
“Sensors pick him up heading due north,” Cyclonus said, and there was regret in his tone. “He took off toward Nova Cronum.”  
  
“We have him in sight. Initiating pursuit,” Thundercracker replied, shifting to alt-mode in the blink of an optic.  
  
“Belay that!”  
  
Thundercracker nearly stalled in mid-air, Skywarp curving into a tight circle around him. He'd always been the faster one between them.  
  
“Why?” Skywarp demanded, his thrusters burning and his wings tilted.  
  
Acid Storm got further away, until only the burn of his thrusters could identify him against the bright horizon.  
  
“Because he'll reach Metalhawk before you catch up to him,” Cyclonus replied grimly. “Once he's in Nova Cronum, there's nothing we can do per the terms of the treaty.”  
  
Skywarp jiggered in a tight circle. “We don't know that's where he's going. I can still catch him! It's only two jumps.”  
  
Thundercracker transformed to root mode, hovering mid-air. Anger made his engine rumble, his hands pull into fists.  
  
“No, Cyclonus is right,” he said, glaring at the last specks of Acid Storm's afterburners. “If Acid Storm did this, and with Metalhawk's blessing at that, then even if we could catch him, it would be politically ill-advised.”  
  
Skywarp transformed in a snap. “We can't let him get away with this!” he cried, whipping a hand and pointing in Acid Storm's direction. “Star could die because of him.” His vents heaved, thrusters spitting fire.  
  
“He won't,” Thundercracker said with confidence. He spun mid-air, aiming toward the medbay where he suspected their fearless leader would be. “Come on, Skywarp. We'll tell Grimlock what we know and let him decide from there.”  
  
Skywarp muttered something and pulled up alongside him. “This should be a Seeker matter.”  
  
“Except it's not. You know as well as I do Acid Storm did not code that virus himself. He had help.”  
  
Thundercracker's proximity sensors pinged. He swung his attention to the left, where a bright gold Seeker approached, only to transform to root mode at the last second. Sunstorm's expression was blank, but his field was a full of frenetic dismay.  
  
“When you asked me about Acid Storm, I feared the worst,” he said by way of explanation, nodding a greeting to Skywarp as well. His gaze shifted to the horizon, not that Acid Storm could be seen any longer. “It appears I was right.”  
  
“You knew he would do this?” Skywarp demanded, his engines revving again.  
  
Thundercracker held out a hand, more gesture than physical restraint, to keep Skywarp from doing something rash. “It would be rather foolish of Sunstorm to out himself if he was at all responsible for this.”  
  
“Yes, it would. And I am many things, but foolish is not one of them.” Sunstorm sighed and rubbed at his faceplate. “I knew Acid Storm was upset. He remained unconvinced of Starscream's right to leadership. Our lack of a third only worsened matters. I tried speaking with him otherwise, but my words fell on deaf audials.”  
  
Thundercracker's frown deepened. “But to go so far?”  
  
“He did not come to this conclusion on his own.” Sunstorm's reply was fierce, his optics flashing. “He had to have been swayed, promised something, I do not know. But he was aware Starscream's death would not automatically grant him the position of Air Commander. I have told him numerous times it was not so simple.”  
  
“If anything, TC would step in,” Skywarp said with a snort.  
  
Thundercracker shook his helm. “It is not a position I would accept.” Frankly, if there was anyone he'd consider, it was Sunstorm, Starscream clone or not. “However, we are presenting a rather high-value target up here. I suggest we land.”  
  
“I agree. To the medbay then?” Sunstorm said. “I can't imagine Lord Grimlock would be anywhere else.”  
  
He was right, of course.  
  
“Yes,” Thundercracker answered, and turned toward the medbay roof access again. “He needs to know this as well.”  
  
This and so much more.  
  


0o0o0

  
  
He would never get used to the sounds of the machines. They were an obnoxious noise, yet Grimlock clung to them. For as long as the machines beeped and whirred, Starscream was alive. For now, he was stable. Grimlock had lingered around Ratchet long enough to know that stable could turn to critical in a sparkbeat.  
  
He bowed his helm, one of Starscream's hands clasped between his own. Starscream felt cold to the touch, as though his frame reserved all of the latent heat for his chassis and spark chamber. His field was nonexistent, barely a hum of life to it. No matter how hard Grimlock reached, Starscream did not reach back.  
  
The anger built again, so thick and cloying he almost couldn't swallow it. He had nowhere to direct his fury, save in the vague direction of Metalhawk.  
  
Grimlock was tempted.  
  
He was so very tempted to damn the treaty, damn the consequences, and unleash the full might of the Decepticon army against Metalhawk's collection of Neutrals.  
  
Megatron would have. Not for Starscream's sake, of course not, but because if there was one thing Megatron did not despise, it was looking weak in any shape. He would not have tolerated an assault on his home, on his residence. He would not have cared for repercussions.  
  
He would have laid waste to Nova Cronum and gladly waited for the consequences. It was, Grimlock knew, one of the many reasons he was now slag at the bottom of a pool.  
  
Grimlock was not Megatron. He would never become Megatron. But in moments like these, it was a tempting thought.  
  
His comm pinged. Grimlock cycled a ventilation and gently set Starscream's hand back to the berth. He leaned back in the chair and reached for his comm.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“You have some visitors.” His creator's voice came through, sounding exhausted. “Duty calls, kid.”  
  
“Understood. Thank you, Ratchet.”  
  
The comm crackled back to silence. Grimlock pushed to his pedes. Duty called indeed. He'd promised Thundercracker and Cyclonus his relationship with Starscream would not be a detriment to his leadership of the Decepticons. He meant that promise.  
  
Grimlock leaned back over the berth, pressing his mouthplate to Starscream's forehelm. He'd return as soon as his business was handled.  
  
He put on a metaphorical mask and eased from Starscream's private room, nodding a greeting to Blackout, one of Cyclonus' mechs who had been installed as guard over Starscream. Blackout had a list of mechs who were allowed access to Starscream's room. Anyone not on that list had to be approved by Ratchet or Grimlock and only them. Not even Knock Out was allowed to approve a visitor.  
  
Anyone could be a suspect. Anyone could be to blame. Grimlock couldn't afford to take any more chances.  
  
He almost passed Ratchet in the hall, but his creator paused and so Grimlock did as well. Ratchet's optics were dim, his shoulders hunched. One hand carried what looked to be a load of fluid refill bags, the other held a datapad.  
  
“Any news?” Grimlock asked.  
  
Ratchet shook his helm. “Some. Shockwave's cooked up something, but we're running tests first. I'm not uploading anything into Starscream until I'm sure it won't make matters worse.”  
  
Grimlock cycled a ventilation. “Thank you for your caution.”  
  
“He's your Intended.” Ratchet offered a crooked grin. “Of course I'm going to make sure he's okay, kid. He's almost family.”  
  
Won't Starscream be delighted to hear that?  
  
Despite himself, Grimlock chuckled. “Yes, I suppose he is.”  
  
Ratchet's engine grumbled. “Just don't tell him I said that.” He tilted his helm, gesturing to the hall behind him. “You've got a makeshift team meeting out in the reception area. Everyone's looking fidgety, so it might be a good time to remind them who's in charge around here.”  
  
“I'll remember that.” Grimlock briefly rested a hand on the medic's shoulder before excusing himself.  
  
He couldn't hear the chatter through the thick doors dividing the medbay from reception, but he could sense the growing disturbance of energy fields. It ran the gamut from anger to resignation to agitation. If Metalhawk had intended to sow discord, he was on the right path.  
  
Fortunately for Grimlock, the Decepticons were a lot stronger and united than Metalhawk could have dreamed. They would not dissolve or fracture. Grimlock would see to it.  
  
He pushed through the door and stepped into the reception hall. It was not a large space, but it seemed even smaller with upwards of six mechs crowded into it, two of which were Dinobots and three of which were Seekers who demanded more personal space than nearly any other frametype.  
  
Cyclonus was not present, of course. He should be on duty in the command center right now with Krok available on standby. The leader of the Scavengers was a bit of a twitchy sort, but he knew how to handle authority, and when to defer. He was a good asset.  
  
It remained to be seen whether the rest of his team would integrate well. Grimlock had heard Spinister was something of a medic, but hadn't heard Knock Out whine about the addition to his staff. Either Spinister had chosen not to make himself available to the medbay, or no one had given him the option.  
  
“You have news?” Grimlock asked by way of introduction as the door slid shut behind him. His voice sliced through the low buzz of conversation.  
  
Three Seekers, two Dinobots, and a Combaticon. It wasn't quite the collection Grimlock expected to see, but so long as answers were to be had, he wouldn't question it.  
  
“Yes.” Sunstorm was the first to speak up, though discomfort lingered around him like a bad smell. His armor had clamped tight, and his wings pressed against his back. “We believe we've discovered the identity of the mech who infected Starscream.”  
  
Grimlock went still. He cycled several ventilations, forcing himself to stay under control. “Who?”  
  
Thundercracker lifted his helm. “Acid Storm.”  
  
That… was unexpected. Grimlock chewed on the information. Weeks ago, Starscream had mentioned a disagreement of sorts throughout the aerial forces, but he had been scant on the details. He said he would handle it, that there was nothing to be concerned about.  
  
Obviously, he was mistaken.  
  
“Why?” Grimlock demanded.  
  
“Metalhawk.”  
  
That answer came from Brawl, who leaned against the wall nearest the exit door. Several paint scrapes and dents in his armor suggested he'd been sparring with Slag before they both appeared here. Not an unusual occurrence.  
  
“And you know this how?” Grimlock asked.  
  
Brawl tapped his helm. “Ya know Ons' is in deep, right? He says yer missin' Seeker's up in Nova Cronum now, takin' refuge with the Neutrals. On invitation, I hear.”  
  
“He was last seen taking flight toward Nova Cronum,” Thundercracker confirmed, the darkness of his optics hinting of a banked anger the likes of which Grimlock had never seen in the usually calm Seeker.  
  
“Then since we know where he is, we can go get him, right?” Skywarp asked, his wings twitching rapidly. He was the only one of them in constant motion, his field the most grating in the room.  
  
“Him Acid Storm need whooping,” Slag grumbled, sneezing a brief gout of flame and nearly singeing Brawl's legs.  
  
The Combaticon didn't so much as flinch.  
  
“It is not so simple,” Grimlock said. He rubbed at his forehelm.  
  
As much as he wanted to storm into Nova Cronum and drag Acid Storm out by his thrusters, he knew the treaty forbade it. He was certain there were rules that allowed Grimlock to demand extradition as the offense Acid Storm committed had been in Decepticon territory, to a Decepticon resident, by a Decepticon. But Grimlock suspected Metalhawk would not make things so easy.  
  
His comm pinged. Again. Only this time it was Cyclonus.  
  
Grimlock held up a hand. “Quiet,” he ordered, and shifted his attention to his comm. “Yes, Cyclonus.”  
  
“We have just received through official channels an expedited request for a defection petition,” Cyclonus replied tersely. He sounded annoyed, each word spat into the comm.  
  
Grimlock shifted his weight. “From Acid Storm?”  
  
“No. From Metalhawk on Acid Storm's behalf.” Cyclonus cycled an audible ventilation. “Am I correct in assuming this has something to do with Starscream?”  
  
“You are.”  
  
“Petition or not, we can still demand Acid Storm's return as he did not go through the official channels on our end,” Cyclonus replied. He would know, as he'd studied the treaty as thoroughly as Ultra Magnus must have.  
  
Grimlock rubbed harder at his forehelm. “No. Not without being able to prove, beyond any doubt, that Acid Storm is responsible for Starscream's condition. Guilty behavior is not enough.”  
  
“You wish to catch Metalhawk as well,” Cyclonus said, understanding lit in his vocals. “Very well. Shall I accept the petition and file it?”  
  
Grimlock would have smirked, had he a mouth. “Metalhawk did say he wanted to be close allies. Let us pretend we are.”  
  
“Understood. Cyclonus, out.”  
  
The comm went silent, allowing Grimlock to redirect his attention to the rest of those in the room.  
  
“I just don't understand why he would do this,” Sunstorm muttered into the gloom. His shoulders sank, wings drooping with it.  
  
“Him Acid Storm want trine,” Slag offered with a snort. He pawed at the ground with his right foot before abruptly shifting to root mode and randomly punching Brawl in the shoulder.  
  
Given that all the Combaticon did was grunt, this was apparently a common occurrence? Grimlock honestly didn't want to know. So long as they both agreed to it, he really did not want to know.  
  
“Well,” Brawl added with a shrug, as though the punch had stirred something in his helm. “He's not wrong. The Neutrals' have two untrined Seekers, and they're looking for a third.”  
  
Sunstorm shook his helm. “That can't be all. We've been talking about courting Misfire, for Primus' sake. He'd seemed excited about the idea of it.”  
  
“Maybe that wasn't enough. Who knows. We won't until we can ask him,” Skywarp said with a snort. His wing flicked dismissively. “Which I guess we can't do until we find some proof.”  
  
Sunstorm cycled a ventilation. “I'll search his quarters,” he said, and rubbed at his face. “I'll ask around as well. Perhaps Red Wing or Nacelle know something.”  
  
“We should come with you,” Thundercracker said, only to draw up short when Sunstorm shook his helm.  
  
A small, sad smile pulled at Sunstorm's lips. “Normally, I would welcome you. But Acid Storm was not the only Seeker who was not content to bow to Starscream simply because he returned. I may not get any answers if I show up with Starscream's trinemates beside me.”  
  
“But--”  
  
“Fair enough,” Grimlock said, cutting off Skywarp's building protest. “Do what you need to do, Sunstorm. Report back to Thundercracker when you are through.”  
  
“Yes, my Lord.” Sunstorm dipped his helm in a show of respect. “If you'll excuse me, I'll go see to that now.”  
  
Grimlock waved him off.  
  
It wasn't until Sunstorm had gone that he looked to Thundercracker and Skywarp. “Seekers come in threes,” Grimlock said, referring not only to the book Thundercracker had loaned him, but what he'd observed. “Who was Sunstorm and Acid Storm's third?”  
  
Skywarp folded his arms over his chestplate. “From what I understand, it was Ionstorm.”  
  
“And then Novastorm when Icestorm… exploded,” Thundercracker said with an audible ex-vent. His plating drew taut. “Novastorm attempted to warp. As far as Shockwave's notes indicated he, well, disintegrated.”  
  
Skywarp rolled his optics. “That's not how warping works, TC. If Shockwave had any idea what he was playing with, maybe he'd have understood that.”  
  
“How does it work?” Grimlock asked.  
  
“Pfft. Do I look like an engineer?” Skywarp flicked a hand in the air. “Do you think that spy can explain why his electro-disruptor works? Or Soundwave knows what makes his telepathy tick? You'd be better off asking Primus.”  
  
Grimlock's helm began to ache. He resisted the urge to rub at it. “Understood.” He nodded at Thundercracker and Skywarp. “I appreciate your assistance in the investigation.” He shifted his attention to Brawl next. “Please extend gratitude to your commander as well. If he has anything further to add, he is welcome to contact me.”  
  
Brawl scratched at his faceguard. “Sure thing.” He elbowed Slag in the side. “Come on, Dinobot. Let's hit up Swin's. I know where he keeps the good stuff.”  
  
“Him Slag be there in minute,” Slag grumbled, giving him a sidelong look.  
  
Brawl shrugged. “Whatever. Ya know where it is.” He departed, leaving Grimlock to offer Slag a curious look.  
  
“Was there something else?”  
  
“Just me Slag checking on you Grimlock.” Slag strode toward him and planted his hands on Grimlock's shoulders, looking up at him with his version of concern. “You Grimlock okay? Not see you Grimlock in us Dinobot home.”  
  
He shifted his weight, pointedly ignoring the fact that Thundercracker and Skywarp were watching with curious optics.  
  
“Me Grimlock fine,” he replied and rested one of his hands over Slag's, giving it a quick squeeze. “Worried about him Starscream. So stay here.”  
  
Slag nodded. “Him Swoop worried. Miss cuddles.” His lips curved into a laugh, mouthful of pointed denta disconcerting to anyone who wasn't a Dinobot. “Him Grimlock need rest, too. Or can't help him Starscream.”  
  
“Me Grimlock keep that in mind. Thanks.”  
  
“Pfft. Me Slag only ask for him Swoop. That all.” Slag retracted his hands quickly, as though offended he'd had a moment of genuine concern. He rubbed at his nasal ridge and gave Grimlock a sideways look. “But you Grimlock call if need us, yeah?”  
  
Grimlock folded his arms over his chestplate. “Always.”  
  
“Okay.” Slag nodded as though to himself and then spun on a heelstrut, nearly poking Grimlock with one of his Dino-helm horns in the process. “If you Grimlock say so. Bye now.”  
  
Contentious Slag might be at times, but he was still a Dinobot, and they were still brothers. When it came down to it, that was what mattered most.  
  
Amusement tugged at Grimlock as he watched his argumentative sibling leave. Slag had certainly settled since he'd begun sparring and spending time with Brawl. Grimlock didn't know if it was romantic or friendly, and it was none of his business. So long as they weren't hurting each other and Slag was happy, Grimlock would wait until Slag was willing to share.  
  
It was just nice to see that they no longer had to rely only on each other for companionship. That they weren't relegated to a closet or the times when Optimus needed a heavy-hitter and remembered they existed.  
  
It was nice, Grimlock reflected, to have friends.  
  
“What now?” Thundercracker asked, reminding Grimlock that he and Skywarp yet remained.  
  
Back to business.  
  
Grimlock gathered himself together. “Now we search for proof, and we wait to see if Shockwave is half as good as he thinks he is.”  
  
Skywarp bounced on his heelstruts. “Will they let us see him?”  
  
“Yes. I'll tell Blackout you're on the list,” Grimlock replied, tilting his helm toward the entrance to medbay proper. “Just be careful. He's surrounded by a lot of machinery. It's all that is keeping him functioning.”  
  
Skywarp rolled his optics. “It wouldn't be the first time,” he muttered. He made his way to the door, only to pause when he realized Thundercracker hadn't followed him. “Aren't you coming?”  
  
“In a moment.”  
  
Skywarp gave him an odd look before he shrugged and continued, leaving Thundercracker and Grimlock alone.  
  
“I assume there was something you wanted to say privately?” Grimlock asked. He would admit that at times, he was uneasy around Thundercracker.  
  
Not because he feared Thundercracker, but because there was a depth to Thundercracker which was hard to penetrate. He was a Decepticon, but had always carried himself differently. He was close to Skywarp – lovers, Grimlock assumed – but still somehow held himself apart. He was silent when others spoke, and there was a coldness about him.  
  
In many ways, Thundercracker reminded Grimlock of Prowl. Which was not necessarily a bad thing. That did, however, make him difficult to read.  
  
“Of a sort,” Thundercracker finally said, and closed the distance between them. “It is nothing urgent, but I did have a request.”  
  
Grimlock nodded. “Go on.”  
  
Thundercracker cycled a ventilation. “I am content to do this for Starscream now. I recognize the necessity of it. But in the future, I recommend Sunstorm be nominated as temporary Air Commander, and he who should be listed as Starscream's heir.”  
  
“You are certain?”  
  
Thundercracker nodded. “Yes.” He unfolded his arms, straightening his backstrut. “Leadership has never been my purview, and while Sunstorm is young in comparison, he has already demonstrated an aptitude for intelligence, fairness, and competence. I would support his ascension, should we need it.”  
  
“Hopefully, it will not come to that, save far in the future,” Grimlock replied. “But I will keep your nomination in mind. So long as Starscream seconds it, I see no issues.”  
  
“Thank you.” The corner of Thundercracker's lips curved in an approximate smile. “For what it is worth, I am relieved that you are the leader we now serve. I am glad, also, for the effect you have had on Starscream.”  
  
“I adore him,” Grimlock said. He saw no reason to be coy. His affection for Starscream was no secret, especially not one he intended to keep from Starscream's trinemates.  
  
Thundercracker huffed a laugh. “I am beginning to see that.” He inclined his helm. “Skywarp and I will sit with him for a time. Perhaps you should see to your siblings? Consider some recharge, refueling, maybe even a trip through the washracks?”  
  
Grimlock could take a hint when he was given one. He didn't have to look down at himself to know that while he wasn't filthy, the daily grit of life had accumulated in his joints, and his armor had taken on a dull, dusty sheen. He hardly resembled the picture of a leader in control.  
  
“Very well.” Grimlock unfolded his arms. “Comm me if anything changes. I'll have the emergency line open to you.”  
  
“Yes, my lord.” Thundercracker's helm dipped in a respectful bow. “Recharge well.”  
  
If such a thing were even possible, Grimlock didn't know. He grunted an acknowledgment and took his leave.  
  
He would simply have to trust Starscream to his trinemates for now.  
  


~

  
  
Knock Out ached. Fatigue tugged at his struts, his cables. He loathed this feeling with every wire of his being. He had endured it during the war; he did not expect to endure it after the war was called to an end.  
  
But he, like Ratchet and Shockwave, had been working around the clock to find a means to repair Commander Starscream. Knock Out could not more slow down than the others could. He felt, however, the lack of adequate rest and adequate fueling. His finish was atrocious. He hadn't touched his buffer in days.  
  
Primus, but he needed a drink.  
  
“Thank you, Snarl.”  
  
Knock Out looked up from his datapad, the numbers swimming before his optics, to find Snarl had made himself useful again. Instead of repairing some piece of archaic technology Ratchet insisted would be helpful, he'd brought his creator a cube of what looked to be mid-grade. Spiced in some manner, given the specks floating about in it.  
  
Well. Of course he would bring something for Ratchet.  
  
Knock Out huffed to himself and buried his attention back in his datapad. He knew that right now, he was the least useful of those attempting to help Starscream. He knew nothing of viruses or coding. He was a medic by choice, not creation. He'd bought his way into the academy, bought the best hands a medic could use, and bought everything else he needed.  
  
Including a certificate of graduation when a few of his scores didn't quite meet the medical standard.  
  
He wished he could say it was because he wanted that much to help people. But the truth was far from it. The medical field carried prestige, honor. It carried a heaping ton of creds, especially for those who focused on augmentations and modifications, and those Knock Out excelled at.  
  
He could alter a mech. He could change them. He could stylize them. He could fix things that were broken. Basic things.  
  
What had been done to Starscream was another matter altogether. It was as much science as it was medicine. It was an insidious, twisted creation, and all Knock Out could do was treat the symptoms.  
  
He'd failed the class on anti-viral coding. He looked at the datapad Ratchet and Shockwave had passed to him – coding which had also been examined by Perceptor and Wheeljack – and all Knock Out could see was gibberish. He could pick out a few things that were basic and easily recognized.  
  
The rest, however, might as well have been written in Skuxxoid.  
  
“You Knock Out need energon.”  
  
Knock Out cycled his optics and looked up, only to see a cube of energon thrust toward his faceplate. It paused within an inch of striking his nasal ridge. It, too, was mid-grade, and subtle sparkling indicated that it had been flavored with iron sprinkles.  
  
Which was his favorite.  
  
“I...” He accepted the cube as Snarl looked down at him. “Thank you, Snarl.” Did he look as surprised as he felt? He hoped not.  
  
A subtle sniff informed him that yes, indeed, it was flavored exactly how he liked it, and obviously different than Ratchet's had been. How did Snarl know?  
  
“You Knock Out welcome,” Snarl replied and leaned down to tap the datapad. “Hard work, yes? You Knock Out need concentrate.”  
  
Knock Out's fingers curled around the energon. “That I do. Thank you again.”  
  
Snarl all but beamed at him and then straightened. “Me Snarl go back to work on oscillator--” He carefully pronounced the last word. “You call if need me Snarl.”  
  
“Will do,” Ratchet said, sounding as exhausted as Knock Out felt. “Thanks, kid.”  
  
Snarl's arm spikes wriggled with happiness. “Mama Ratchet welcome.” His field flooded the room before he lumbered back toward his workstation in the corner of the room.  
  
The tiny space was not one meant to be shared, but it was better to toss ideas across the room then rely solely on comms. Save Shockwave, who was locked in a storage closet nearby, one guarded by one of the new arrivals, a rotary named Spinister. He was a twitchy sort, Knock Out had learned, but he seemed competent. Until Knock Out could observe him in action, however, guard duty would suffice. Glit had the unfortunate luck to be the medic on permanent-call while Knock Out tended to Commander Starscream.  
  
Glit, at least, had the bearings to admit he knew nothing of coding and couldn’t be of help in creating a cure.  
  
The door opened, and Knock Out's gaze swung toward it as Breakdown rushed inside, clutching a stack of datapads. The Stunticon had been serving as something of a runner for the time being, until they could spare time to begin teaching him. For now, some minor field medicine was the best he could do.  
  
“I have it,” Breakdown announced, waving one of the datapads in particular. “Shockwave updated the coding to account for… for...” He paused and made a face. “For whatever the problem was that made the last test bot, um, explode.”  
  
Explode was a kind way of putting it. The test drone's processor had melted, his false-spark had imploded, and it had flopped around on the floor as if in the throes of seizure. Ratchet later attributed the failure to some kind of self-defense mechanism on the part of the viruses. A self-executing contingency plan.  
  
Shockwave had called it an 'unfortunate setback.'  
  
Knock Out powered down his datapad and stood, ignoring the brief wave of dizziness that attacked him. When was the last time he recharged more than a stasis nap? He honestly couldn't remember. With Lord Grimlock venting down his backstrut, he couldn't relax enough to power down for longer than a few joors.  
  
“Bring it here,” Ratchet said as he, too, stood. He stowed his own datapad, accepting the one Breakdown offered. “What was the estimated success rate?”  
  
“Ninety-two percent,” Breakdown replied. He moved on to Knock Out, offering another datapad. “Should I go get a test drone?”  
  
“No need get,” Snarl offered as he rummaged underneath his workstation and produced one, though it had obviously seen better days. “Me Snarl fix this one earlier.”  
  
Of course he did. Apparently, Dinobots were geniuses. Who knew?  
  
“Thank you, Snarl. That is most helpful. Knock Out, if you would?” Ratchet produced a transfer cable from his subspace, leaving Knock Out the joyous task of prepping the drone.  
  
He cycled a ventilation and took the drone from Snarl. He produced his own datapad and cable, transferring a clean copy of the virus from the datapad directly into the drone. It was a vile thing. No way was Knock Out letting it get anywhere close to his own systems.  
  
The drone itself was outfitted with an analogue for a Cybertronian's processor and basic life functions such as coolant cycling, hydraulics, and energon dispersal. It held a central core, a spark analogue, which powered the frame, and even had a small engine.  
  
It was the closest thing they could get to a safe test without using a live Cybertronian. So far, they had destroyed three drones with Shockwave's 'cure'. Hope grew dimmer by the moment. Yet, they continued to try.  
  
“It's ready,” Knock Out said as he plopped the drone onto a stool. He remote-accessed the software, putting the drone into standby. “Infected and waiting for activation.”  
  
“Then here goes nothing.” Ratchet cycled a loud ventilation and connected the anti-viral datapad to the drone's datapart. “Proceed with activation.”  
  
Knock Out did not hold his ventilations, but he was sorely tempted to do so. He sent the command and watched as the drone twitched, engine instantly revving into a high degree. The virus might have taken time to fully infect Starscream, but this drone had no firewalls, no anti-virus software, nothing to protect it. There was nothing to slow down the progress of the infection.  
  
“Proceeding with anti-viral upload,” Ratchet said, and his fingers flew across the datapad.  
  
There was nothing left to do but wait, watch, and see.  
  
Knock Out disconnected the infected datapad, and took a step back. He learned his lesson from the last one. There was still processor casing stuck in one of his ventral seams and until he could take the time for a detail, it would stay there.  
  
Ratchet, he noticed, also took a step back, though he couldn't go far as the cord connecting the datapad to the drone did not extend far. Then again, given the condition of Ratchet's paint job, another processor eruption couldn't possibly do him much damage.  
  
Knock Out focused on the drone. He checked his chronometer. Thirty seconds and no convulsions. That was a good sign. Then again, the first trial had lasted at least thirty seconds as well.  
  
And then that drone had promptly purged all of the energon in its pseudo-tank and proceeded to claw at its own frame. Subconscious survival protocols had it attacking the source of its discomfort, whatever that had been. It had gotten to its spark-analogue before Knock Out or Ratchet could stop it.  
  
Shockwave's response: “It was only a drone. Let us try this route instead.”  
  
Sick fragger.  
  
Knock Out pinged his chronometer again.  
  
Two minutes and nothing. The drone shook, its optics flickering. Its hands twitched, but so far, it didn't appear explosive. It kept its energon in its tanks.  
  
Knock Out glanced at Ratchet, but the chief medic's face was devoid of expression. He looked calm, his focus pinned on the drone.  
  
Five minutes became ten. By now, trial number three had resulted in Knock Out getting an unwanted blast of processor bits against his chestplate.  
  
The drone's restless twitching stopped. Its optics brightened and held steady. The low purr of its engine continued to be just that.  
  
Ten minutes became thirty became an hour. Still nothing. No sign of any unfortunate side effects. The drone's internal temperature was slightly elevated, but that was standard.  
  
“It working?” Snarl asked, the sudden question making Knock Out jump in the expectant silence.  
  
Ratchet stirred. “That is a good question.” He disconnected the anti-viral datapad and set it aside. He crouched down next to the drone. “Hand me a spare datapad, would you? I want to check its coding.”  
  
“Here.” Breakdown juggled the datapads in his arms and offered Ratchet one before Knock Out could so much as stir. “This one's empty.”  
  
“Thanks.” Ratchet connected it to the drone and started to run a basic diagnostic. His face remained empty of expression, as though he didn't dare hope.  
  
Knock Out folded his arms over his chestplate. He resisted the urge to tap his pede. If Snarl and Breakdown could wait patiently, so could he.  
  
“The virus is gone,” Ratchet said with a shake of his helm. “It's nowhere in the drone's system. I'm seeing elevated spark rate, fuel pump rate, and temperature, but nothing worse than what the average mech would suffer with a nasty rust infection.”  
  
“It works?” Knock Out asked.  
  
“So it would seem.” Ratchet rose to his pedes, still examining the datapad in detail. “I'd like to run the simulation several more times before I even suggest trying it on a living mech, much less Starscream. But yes, it would appear we have a cure.”  
  
Relief left Knock Out sagging. He cycled a long ventilation. Thank, Primus. While he wasn't close to Starscream, he'd seen the effect Starscream's condition had on Lord Grimlock and his trinemates. He knew how it could affect the treaty if Starscream died.  
  
Knock Out did not want to go back to war. He quite liked not having to fear for his spark every day of his life.  
  
“And we have Shockwave to thank for it,” Breakdown muttered, clutching his datapads tighter. “Is Lord Grimlock really going to release him?”  
  
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Ratchet growled. “But that is neither here nor there. Right now, we worry about making sure Starscream recovers. Shockwave can sit in his closet until then.”  
  
“I'll get another drone,” Knock Out said, already spinning on a heelstrut.  
  
He might not be able to work on the coding, but he could at least play fetch. He hadn't needed schooling to teach him that much.  
  
Good news was good news, no matter the form it came in. Maybe once Starscream was fixed, things could go back to normal, and Knock Out wouldn't have to spend days staring at mechs who made him feel inadequate.  
  
That and he could finally have a wash.  
  
One could only hope.  
  


****


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bring Me Back to Life," Epic Powerful Vocal Rock

“It it just me, or is everyone tense?” Tailgate asked. He leaned closer to Cyclonus, his vocals barely above a whisper.  
  
“You are not mistaken.” Cyclonus leaned down to rest a gentle hand on the minibot's shoulder. “Our second-in-command, Starscream, has been injured and is in critical condition. It has left many of us on edge.”  
  
“What happened to him?”  
  
Cyclonus drew to a halt and lowered himself to a nearby bench, relieved when Tailgate joined him with a little hop. The minibot's legs swung with an almost innocent air.  
  
“One of our own infected him with a virus,” Cyclonus said. He wasn't sure how much of it was classified, however, so he tried to keep to the basics. “I feel there are deeper issues regarding the matter, however. In any case, it has concerned many of our residents.”  
  
Tailgate leaned closer, his field pressing comfortingly against Cyclonus'. “Did you catch whoever did it?”  
  
“We did not. He sought refuge in Nova Cronum.”  
  
Tailgate's visor flashed. One hand reached for Cyclonus', his fingers tangling with Cyclonus' own. “And Metalhawk refuses to send him back, I guess.”  
  
Somewhat naive Tailgate might be, but he was not stupid. There was a reason he left the Neutrals, and Cyclonus was not so vain to think it was only for himself.  
  
“We have not asked for his return,” Cyclonus corrected. “Though I suspect if we did, it would matter little.”  
  
Tailgate made a noncommittal noise. He leaned against Cyclonus' side, his gaze focused in the direction of the rebuilding across the street from them.  
  
They were just south of the command center, across from a building that would soon become a storage depot. It was intended to distribute supplies and facilitate trade with whatever nearby planets and species were willing to do business with Cybertronians. It was the first step toward building a stable economy, and would help manage their internal resources as well.  
  
Swindle had volunteered his advice, Cyclonus knew. There was still some debate as to whether they should accept his aid. Swindle tended to only serve his own interests, though if there were credits involved, he became remarkably more open.  
  
“Metalhawk is not interested in peace,” Tailgate said after a moment, his voice soft and sad. “And by that I mean, he's not interested in a peace that he's not in charge of. He's pretty convinced he's the only one who knows what's best for Cybertron.”  
  
“And what do you think?”  
  
Tailgate squeezed Cyclonus' hand. “I think that to have one person, no matter who they are, in charge of everyone is a bad idea. And I think Metalhawk trying to bring back all the old things that led to the war is a worse idea.”  
  
“Well, you are not wrong,” Cyclonus agreed.  
  
It was kind of nice, he reflected, to do nothing but sit here in relative quiet. It was noisy across from them, with the probationed Constructicons shouting to each other, the sound of welding and metal bars clanking, and drilling. But here, between he and Tailgate, it was a comfortable quiet.  
  
“I'm still glad I came here,” Tailgate said after a long moment. He leaned in against Cyclonus' side, the warmth of his plating and his field a welcome thing. “The Decepticons are not as terrible as Metalhawk claims.”  
  
Cyclonus hesitated for all of a second before he lay an arm around and behind Tailgate, allowing the closeness. “There was a time when Metalhawk was not entirely wrong,” he admitted. “We were misled, as a whole, by Megatron's intentions. That which originally drove us was lost to his thirst for power. What we are now is wholly different.”  
  
A rattling clatter of some dropped equipment punctuated his words. That it was immediately followed by loud cursing and the beginnings of an argument was not surprising. Across from them, two of the Constructicons – Long Haul and Bonecrusher – were snarling at each other, but a sharp word from Scrapper had them huffing and getting back to work. There was one other who was on work release – Scavenger, whom Cyclonus privately thought was most likely to earn his freedom before the others. The rest, however, remained in the brig.  
  
It was part of their parole. All six Constructions could not be permitted their freedom at once. Even with inhibitor claws – which Hook was trained enough to remove – the risk of them transforming and combining was too great. Today, it was Hook and Mixmaster who were stuck in their cells.  
  
“Maybe that's true, but he's definitely wrong now,” Tailgate said with a shrug. “And I hate that he's trying to ruin what we're all working hard to fix.”  
  
“As do I.” Cyclonus brushed his fingers over Tailgate's shoulder, the tips of them bouncing against the minibot's tires.  
  
A minibot grounder and a warrior flyer. They were an unlikely combination that would have never been approved on Cybertron of old, not even for something as chaste as friendship.  
  
Given that they could sit together now without anyone arresting them for doing so, Cyclonus was grateful for what it had taken to get here. He did not agree with Megatron's more recent methods, but he couldn't argue with this result.  
  
Cybertron's destruction, yes.  
  
This moment with Tailgate? He was glad he could have it.  
  
Tailgate slid out from Cyclonus' arm and bounced to his pedes, his optical band alight with mischief. “Enough resting. I believe you still owe me a tour.” He held out his hands, offering them to Cyclonus without fear or hesitation.  
  
Cyclonus felt a smile tug at his lips. He accepted Tailgate's hands but instead of standing, he drew them forward, tugging Tailgate closer by the length of a step.  
  
“That I do,” he murmured, and bent his helm, pressing a chaste kiss to the knuckles of each hand. “Thank you, Tailgate.”  
  
The minibot's field flushed with warm delight. His fingers curled against Cyclonus' as he shifted his weight.  
  
“Um, okay,” he said with a little laugh. “I'm not sure what for, but I'll be happy to do it again if that's what it earns me.”  
  
“Simply continue being you, and that will suffice,” Cyclonus said, and finally stood, though he transferred his hand to Tailgate's shoulder. “Shall we proceed?”  
  
Tailgate reached up and lay his hands over Cyclonus'. “Yes! Wherever you want to go, I don't mind.” He beamed, visor bright and delighted.  
  
The sight of it warmed the very core of Cyclonus' spark. He couldn't help but smile down at the minibot, before he gestured Tailgate back onto the main road. There were plenty more reconstructive efforts to see, perhaps even a visit to the local energon bar that an enterprising Decepticon had devised.  
  
Wherever, he supposed, it did not matter. He was content to spend time with Tailgate whatever they did.  
  
And that, right there, was the greatest surprise of all.  
  


~

  
  
Grimlock surfaced from recharge slowly, feeling as though he'd been buried deep underground, lost beneath swaths of fabric, and the dark press of soil above him. It was not as unsettling a feeling as some might think, but it did make finding consciousness that much more difficult.  
  
There was a relentless pinging at the back of his processor. It nagged for his attention, demanding it before he could so much as online his visual or audio center. So Grimlock floated in the dark and answered the ping.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Grimlock, it's Ratchet.” His creator sounded impatient, but also cautious. There was something in his tone, some edge, that pushed Grimlock further toward wakefulness. “I hate to make you online, kid, but I need you to come to the medbay.”  
  
Grimlock's visor snapped online as his spark ran cold. “Is Starscream…?”  
  
“He's fine. What kind of crock of a medic do you think I am?” Ratchet huffed, but it was half-sparked. “We have news, and I'd rather tell you in person.”  
  
The rest of Grimlock's sensory suites onlined. He counted two other sets of ventilations – and the room was dim, save for the illumination provided by biolights.  
  
“I'll be there shortly.”  
  
Grimlock ended the comm before he could let himself read too deeply into Ratchet's vocal tones. He tried to sit up, but there was a heavy weight on one arm, and a heavier weight sprawled across his lower limbs.  
  
He'd crawled into berth with Swoop, who'd all but insisted on it. Claiming that Grimlock would not recharge properly if he was alone, and Swoop had to look after him because no one else could right now.  
  
Grimlock had been too tired to argue. He'd let Swoop shove energon into him, tug him through the washracks for a quick rinse, and then push him into a berth. He hadn't even complained when Swoop crawled in beside him, the comforting sweep of his sibling's energy field enough to soothe the tension from his lines long enough for him to fall into recharge.  
  
He only remembered Swoop. Whoever was on his legs was a mystery.  
  
Grimlock propped himself up with his elbow and looked down, bright yellow and red biolights along with a familiar field helping identify a Dinobot. It wasn't until he saw the long horn projections that he realized it was Slag. Not usually a cuddler, that one. He must have showed up in the middle of the night and decided it was time for a Dino-pile.  
  
He'd only said it half in jest when he mentioned such a thing to Starscream. They didn't always recharge in a pile, but sometimes, it was the only way they felt safe back in the Ark.  
  
As nice as it was, Grimlock did have somewhere to be. He twitched his legs to wake up Slag, and tapped Swoop on the shoulder.  
  
“Oy! Me Grimlock need go to medbay!” he growled, hoping there was just enough command in his tone that both of them would online.  
  
Swoop was the first to stir, rolling over and stretching out with a satisfied noise. “You Grimlock recharge better?” he asked.  
  
“Yes. Thank you.” He poked Swoop in the shoulder. “You Swoop move. Me Grimlock need get up.”  
  
Swoop's lips curved in a grin. “Tell him Slag that. He's heavier than me Swoop.” He chortled as he looked down at the Triceratops laying across both of their legs.  
  
Slag had come in and plopped down on both of them without so much as a question. Which begged the question as to how deeply Grimlock had been recharging to not notice the weight of his sibling.  
  
Grimlock jostled him again, a bit harder this time. But all Slag did was snore louder – because yes, he did snore – and wriggle harder against Grimlock's legs. Which made him think that Slag wasn't really in recharge.  
  
“You Slag wake up!” Swoop said, though he was giggling too hard to be taken seriously.  
  
“You Swoop and you Grimlock be quiet. Me Slag recharging,” came the grumbling reply as one optic lit, glaring at them both.  
  
Grimlock growled down at him. “You Slag get up! Me Grimlock need check on him Starscream!” His field flared, rasping against Slag's.  
  
Never had he seen a Dinobot move so slowly as when Slag laboriously pushed himself up and shifted off of their legs. He slumped to the floor and stretched, tail flicking about.  
  
“You two are no fun,” Slag grumbled.  
  
Grimlock ignored him and slid off the berth, surprised that he did actually feel well rested. The ache at the back of his processor was gone, and while the fog of recharge lingered, it was no longer the fog of fatigue.  
  
“You Grimlock want company?” Swoop asked as he slid off the berth as well, wings flicking in a motion he had to have learned from the Seekers.  
  
Grimlock shook his helm. “No. Me Grimlock be fine. You Swoop worry about lazy aft.” He jerked a thumb toward Slag who yawned at him.  
  
Swoop laughed. “Yes, sir.” He snapped off a salute.  
  
It was so very good to see him like this, smiling and happy, rather than the mess Shockwave had made him. Grimlock's visor brightened as he pulled Swoop into a quick hug that made the flyer squawk. Swoop patted him on the back, giving in to the embrace.  
  
“It okay,” he said. “It okay.”  
  
Grimlock wanted to believe him.  
  
He left a few minutes later after one more quick rinse and a gulped down cube. It was early morning yet, so early that the daylights had not yet come on. A quick check of the schedule informed him he was supposed to be in the command center in a few hours to relieve Scourge. He couldn't believe how long he'd recharged.  
  
He would have to make this quick.  
  
Grimlock made a beeline for the medical center, passing few Decepticons. They kept to an almost Earth-like schedule for sake of simplicity, and even Cyclonus' mechs had adapted to it fairly quickly. Earth-like days meant more frequent rest periods, and there were few mechs who wanted to argue with that.  
  
No one waited for Grimlock in the reception area. He hurried through it and into the medbay proper. The nurse's desk – Breakdown's position as of late – was empty, as was Snarl's newly claimed workstation. But Ratchet stepped out of the main hallway and gestured to him.  
  
“Good. You're here,” he said. “Follow me. We have what I'd like to think is good news.”  
  
“You found a way to repair Starscream?” Grimlock asked as he fell into step behind his creator.  
  
“Yes and no.” Ratchet rubbed at his chevron with one hand while the other wriggled a datapad in plain view. “Shockwave wrote an anti-virus. It has a ninety-nine percent success rate of every single drone we've tested it on.”  
  
Grimlock inclined his helm. “Then what's the problem?”  
  
Ratchet glanced over his shoulder. “We haven't tested it on a sentient mech. We don't know what it'll do to a mech in Starscream's advanced state. Risk algorithms indicate the possibility of failure is low but...” Here he trailed off and cycled a ventilation. “It is not our call to make.”  
  
“Then who's is it?”  
  
Ratchet drew to a halt in front of Starscream's room. The guard was no longer present, given that the perpetrator had been identified, but peering in through the viewing window, Grimlock saw a lot of equipment had been moved aside. Knock Out and Glit fiddled with those that remained.  
  
“Thundercracker and Skywarp are technically his next-of-kin,” Ratchet said as Grimlock's attention shifted back toward him. “Starscream updated his file recently, however.” He stepped closer, resting his hand on Grimlock's arm. “As his Intended, you have the right to speak on his behalf as well.”  
  
Grimlock stared at his creator, unable to hide the surprise in his field. “I...” he trailed off, attention whipping back toward Starscream.  
  
He couldn't imagine Starscream ever entrusting such a decision to Megatron. To anyone, truth be told. But he'd handed that over to Grimlock, he believed Grimlock would do what was best…  
  
His spark constricted, affection threatening to swallow him whole. He'd been worried, all along, he was pushing Starscream too far. That he'd invested more in this than Starscream, and perhaps the Air Commander only tolerated him out of a lack of other options. He'd wanted to believe otherwise, of course, who wouldn't.  
  
There was yet a nagging concern that if anyone was going to walk away from this relationship, it would be Starscream. Grimlock knew what he wanted, but he also knew Starscream was both unfamiliar and uncertain about the level of commitment Grimlock desired. He constantly feared scaring Starscream away.  
  
But this…?  
  
He worked his intake, free hand gripping the ledge of the viewing window. “What have Thundercracker and Skywarp said?”  
  
“They defer to you,” Ratchet answered quietly, squeezing Grimlock's arm in support. “Skywarp insists Starscream would rather take a chance than remain in stasis forever. Thundercracker believes that while Starscream loathed Shockwave, he did admit that Shockwave is brilliant. He trusted Shockwave's loyalty to science, more than he did Shockwave's loyalty to the Decepticons.”  
  
Grimlock cycled a ventilation. “It works?”  
  
“As far as I can tell.”  
  
“What would you recommend?” He trusted his creator's judgment in all things. Because all Grimlock could think of right now was how much he wanted Starscream aware and online. But more than that, he didn't want to lose Starscream.  
  
Ratchet squeezed his arm again. “I agree with Starscream. Shockwave is a fragger and a half, but his loyalty is to science first. I trust that Perceptor has sent his approval of the code, and Wheeljack has given it one as well. I trust that we have tested it as much as possible to ensure that it is successful. All we have left is hope.”  
  
“Hope.” Grimlock's helm dipped. He offlined his visor, thoughts drawing inward.  
  
Hope, and perhaps a touch of faith as well.  
  
Like it or not, Starscream would not survive forever. Did they have enough time to continue testing this anti-virus? Did they have any other options? Starscream was running out of time. If he waited, if he hesitated, perhaps it would be too late. Maybe it was too late now.  
  
Grimlock didn't know. He only knew he couldn't miss this chance.  
  
He lifted his helm and onlined his visor again. “Do it,” he said, and prayed to Primus, that he listen for once, that it worked. “Bring him back to me, Ratchet.”  
  
“Of course I will.” Ratchet leaned in close, arm briefly encircling Grimlock in an embrace. “I'll do the best I can, kid. Promise.”  
  
And then he was gone, taking the warmth of his embrace with him. Grimlock could only watch as Ratchet vanished into Starscream's private room. He couldn't hear what his creator said, but Knock Out and Glit snapped to attention.  
  


~

  
  
There wasn't anything he could do for Grimlock, Swoop realized. The eldest Dinobot was a firestorm of worry that wouldn't be calmed until Starscream was repaired and awake. Grimlock had fallen hard for the querulous Seeker, and there was no comforting him, not while Starscream's future was up in the air.  
  
But Swoop wasn't entirely useless. He couldn't do anything for Grimlock right now, but there were two others who could use a warm frame and a gentle embrace. So that was where he found himself, buried beneath the weight of two Seekers in an over-large berth.  
  
To be fair, he was mostly buried under Skywarp, who stretched out on top of him as though he thought Swoop was going to skitter away and go pelting off the balcony. Thundercracker lay next to them, his optics quietly assessing.  
  
Skywarp had been the one to make all the first moves, the tentative steps. He'd been the one to flirt and yes, Swoop knew he sometimes looked and acted stupid. He couldn't help it. His processor was wired wrong – not Wheeljack's fault, he only had substandard parts to work with.  
  
But Swoop was neither stupid nor blind. He knew flirting when he saw it. At first, he'd been charmed and flattered. Then he'd been worried. He thought Skywarp and Thundercracker were a couple, a mated pair, like Mama Ratchet and Papa Wheeljack. He feared something had happened between them, and Skywarp was being an aft to put Swoop in the middle.  
  
Thundercracker was the one who cleared the air.  
  
“You can tell him to stop, you know,” he said one day when it was just the two of them flying because Skywarp was off in the energon manufactory. “Flirting, I mean. You don't have to put up with it because we're Starscream's trinemates.”  
  
Swoop had been so startled he'd missed a curve and lost concentration. He'd had to scramble to regain his balance before he plummeted from the sky.  
  
Again.  
  
It was embarrassing enough the first six times Thundercracker caught him.  
  
“You Thundercracker okay with it?” he asked.  
  
“Why wouldn't I be?” Thundercracker's wingflaps twitched. He sounded honestly surprised, as though it hadn't occurred to him to be jealous.  
  
“You him Skywarp's mate,” Swoop said, letting his own confusion bleed through into his field. He hoped the Seeker could read it. Sometimes, Swoop had trouble deciphering Thundercracker and Skywarp's field, and he knew it wasn't because of Shockwave.  
  
The Dinobots were just different. Always had been. Their sparks spun to a different rhythm, and their fields vibrated at a different frequency.  
  
Thundercracker barked a laugh. “Mate? Oh, Primus, no. We're friends. Lovers occasionally, yes. I do love him, but not the way you think.”  
  
Swoop pointed his nose toward the horizon and regained his balance. “Me Swoop not understand.”  
  
“It's complicated.” Thundercracker pushed himself through a few lazy loops before returning to Swoop's side. “Seekers are compelled to be near each other. In groups of three, at the very least. For balance. A trine, you know?”  
  
“Me Swoop know about trines.” Swoop loosed a small chuckle. “Him Grimlock read about trines a lot back in Ark.”  
  
“I'll bet he did.” Thundercracker's field hummed with amusement. He dipped, spun underneath Swoop, and came up on his other side. “Skywarp and I get along. We adore each other. And we'll always be together. It's just--”  
  
“Complicated,” Swoop repeated, rolling the word around his glossa, pleased that he'd been able to speak it without stuttering. Yet another tick on the road to improvement.  
  
“Yes.” Thundercracker's wingflap twitched. “So in answer to your question, no it does not bother me. He can flirt as much as he likes, and you can answer that flirting if you wish.”  
  
“That good to know.” Swoop tilted a little, brushing his wing-hand against the distant edge of Thundercracker's wing. “Me Swoop like you Thundercracker.”  
  
“Mmm. I like you, too.”  
  
Swoop laughed. “You Thundercracker not get my meaning,” he teased.  
  
“I understand you just fine, Swoop.”  
  
“Me no think you do.” Swoop laughed again and put on a burst of speed. He would never outfly Thundercracker, and didn't even think to try.  
  
But that didn't mean they couldn't play a little game of chase.  
  
Now here they were. Thundercracker was still more reserved than Skywarp. Less outwardly affectionate, in comparison to Skywarp's enthusiastic glomping. Swoop never believed that he didn't care, however. He simply had other ways of showing it.  
  
“Mmm.” Skywarp burrowed harder against Swoop's chest, one wing lazily flicking behind his right shoulder. “Don't ya wish we could just stay like this for hours? It's perfect.”  
  
Thundercracker snorted a ventilation. “You would, lazy aft that you are.”  
  
“I just like to be comfortable.” Skywarp curled his hands under Swoop's shoulders and held on tight. “Dinobot's make good pillows. No wonder Star's smitten.”  
  
“Smitten?” Thundercracker chuckled. “You better hope he never hears that you accused him of being smitten.”  
  
“Is true,” Swoop had to agree with a little laugh. “But him Grimlock smitten, too.”  
  
Skywarp's wings flicked, betraying his delight. “They're so cute.”  
  
“That's one word you could use,” Thundercracker drawled and drew himself upright, easing his frame from their entwined tangle. “But as much fun as this is, I have to go.”  
  
“Where?” Swoop asked.  
  
Thundercracker tapped his comm as he eased off the berth. “Cyclonus just pinged. Lord Grimlock is remaining in the medbay with Starscream, and Scourge doesn't want to work a triple-shift.”  
  
“I don't blame him,” Skywarp said and snuggled harder against Swoop's front, as though he feared Thundercracker was going to drag him away, too. “I can't wait until Star's fixed so we can all get back to normal.”  
  
“Whatever that even means anymore,” Thundercracker said. He stretched, lengthening the gaps in his armor and offering tantalizing peeks at the cabling beneath. “I'm taking a double so I won't be back until the morning.”  
  
Skywarp huffed a ventilation. “Well, at least I won't be lonely without you then.”  
  
Thundercracker rolled his optics. “You know I'm immune to your guilt trips by now, Warp. Besides, I'm leaving you in good hands.”  
  
Swoop barked a laugh. “Me Swoop got best hands.”  
  
“That, too.” Thundercracker twitched his wings, stretching first one joint and then the other. “I'm going now. I'll see you two later.”  
  
He left, the door to the berthroom sliding back shut behind him.  
  
“Is it just me or is he always leavin' us?” Skywarp asked with a little laugh. He wriggled atop Swoop as though he couldn't get comfortable.  
  
Swoop patted the nearest wing, finger dragging along the edge of it. “Him Thundercracker have responsibilities. What you Skywarp have?”  
  
Skywarp lifted his helm and gave a cheesy grin. “All the alone time with you.”  
  
Swoop chuckled and slid his arms around Skywarp, his hands resting on the Seeker's back below his wing hinges. “That not too bad then.”  
  
“It's really not.” Skywarp straightened, and his optics suddenly brightened. His glossa flicked over his lips before he started to wriggle, scooting down Swoop's frame.  
  
Amused, Swoop watched him. He had no idea of Skywarp's intentions until the Seeker planted his aft on Swoop's hips and gave his own a little roll.  
  
“So,” Skywarp purred as his hands planted on Swoop's ventral armor. “We could recharge or...” He trailed off, letting the silence speak for itself.  
  
Swoop's hands drifted to Skywarp's hips, his thumbs sweeping inward, to the join of hip and thigh where a hint of cabling peeked between Skywarp's armor plates. “What about him Thundercracker?”  
  
Skywarp's wings flicked. “Hey, I don't need him to interface with someone,” he retorted with a roll of his optics.  
  
“Not that.” Swoop's hands slid up Skywarp's sides and down again, intending to be soothing, but eliciting something else when Skywarp shivered and kneaded at his belly. “Only meant – is him Thundercracker okay with it?”  
  
“Oh. Yeah, sure.” Skywarp rolled his shoulders dismissively. “I mean, ya can ask him if you want. He'll be sorry he missed out, but he won't be jealous or anything.”  
  
Jealous?  
  
Swoop's lips curved.  
  
“What him Thundercracker going to miss?” he asked with a soft purr as he let his thumbs sweep inward, the tips of them brushing the edges of Skywarp's spike panel.  
  
Another shiver wracked the Seeker's frame. His hips did a dance atop Swoop's groin. “I don't know,” Skywarp said playfully, his hands smoothing up Swoop's belly, sliding over his chestplate, and then hitting the berth to either side of Swoop's helm. He ground down. “Why don't you open up and show me?”  
  
Swoop laughed. “You Skywarp silly.”  
  
“I know.” Skywarp leaned down, his lips brushing over Swoop's. “Indulge me?”  
  
Swoop closed the last inch between them and captured Skywarp's lips, the kiss turning urgent rather quickly. The Seeker made a low noise of need in his intake, his hips dancing atop Swoop's. Heat wound slowly through Swoop's frame, always easy to incite when it came to his Seeker lovers.  
  
It helped that Skywarp was so eager, that he'd abandoned his hesitation after the first time they'd kissed. His interest and attraction was genuine. It may have confused him, but it was still real.  
  
He wanted Swoop, and he made no attempts to hide it.  
  
His hips ground down again. “Come on, Swoop,” Skywarp said against his mouth, panting a warm ventilation over him. “You gonna tease me or do something about this, huh?”  
  
'This' being the wet streak he was now leaving on Swoop's panel, his valve dripping as it rubbed over Swoop's armor. Each forward roll of his hips offered Swoop a tantalizing pink of the bright glow of Skywarp’s anterior node.  
  
Call him a tease, would he?  
  
Swoop's engine rumbled. He tightened his grip on Skywarp's hip, braced himself, and then surged upward. There was a moment where Skywarp flailed, loosing a startled yelp, before his wings flattened against the berth, and Swoop perched over him. He was larger than Skywarp, easily casting a shadow down on the Seeker.  
  
Skywarp's legs closed around his waist, tugging him closer. “Yeah, that's better,” he said, hands clutching at Swoop, trying to drag him down, drag him closer. “Knew you couldn't resist.”  
  
Swoop rocked against Skywarp's open panel, teasing himself by refusing to free his spike just yet. “You Skywarp funny.” One hand kept a grip on the Seeker's hips while the other braced against the berth.  
  
“Mmm. I know I am.” Skywarp wriggled and arched up against him, his lips drawing into an adorably enticing pout. “Guess you better find a way to shut me up.”  
  
Silly and predictable both.  
  
Swoop grinned and leaned down, capturing Skywarp's lips again. Skywarp made a happy noise in his intake, his field rising warmly against Swoop's.  
  
Distraction or not. Casual or not.  
  
Swoop was happy to have this, Skywarp in his arms now, and Thundercracker later. He didn't know what the future would bring, but this here and now, was good enough for him.  
  


~

  
  
Grimlock paced for several hours. He'd called Cyclonus and requested the third-in-command to take his shift in the command center. He promised that once he knew of Starscream's fate, he would relieve Cyclonus.  
  
Surprisingly, Cyclonus neither sounded angry, nor irritated. Only saying that there was more at stake in Starscream's recovery than Grimlock's relationship with him. For the time being, he would be willing to assist in whatever way possible.  
  
Perhaps his little minibot friend had been helping him.  
  
Though now, without the distraction, all Grimlock could do was pace. He'd had visitors, those who came by to check on Starscream's progress, but no one lingered. Perhaps his erratic energy field had driven them away.  
  
Swoop. Thundercracker. Skywarp. Sunstorm. Even some of Cyclonus' soldiers had wandered in to check on Starscream. Their concern was touching. Grimlock made a mental note of it. Starscream would want to know who had cared.  
  
Sometimes, he still labored under the misconception no one did.  
  
Grimlock spun on a heelstrut. He'd stopped peering in through the window an hour ago. Watching without understanding only made him more anxious. Glit popped out earlier to give him an update before the feline medic made himself scarce again.  
  
The anti-virus had been transmitted. The rest was a waiting game. Results on the drones tended to be immediate as they hadn't been infected as long. Results on a living mech who had been under the virus' thumb for nearly two weeks? It was too soon to tell.  
  
That was two hours ago.  
  
Grimlock's early morning arrival had now stretched through the afternoon and into evening. His missed shift came and went. Grimlock would owe Cyclonus whatever gift of appreciation his third-in-command preferred.  
  
The only one to enter and exit the little room frequently was Breakdown, who brought energon to the medics swarming Starscream, and carried out dirtied equipment. He kept tossing Grimlock sympathetic looks, but didn't linger, which was a relief. He fidgeted and Grimlock was having enough trouble keeping under control without getting aggravated by someone who couldn't be still.  
  
Evening crawled toward night. Grimlock drank the energon Snarl brought him, and remotely did some of his paperwork so he could at least say he'd accomplished something. That, and it kept him from storming into the room.  
  
He spun on another heel-strut. He folded his arms behind his back, clasping his hands. His thoughts spun in a thousand directions. Not one to doubt himself, he still worried he'd made the right choice. What if he was wrong? What if he caused Starscream's death?  
  
What if…?  
  
The anxiety gnawed at him. A part of Grimlock was furious. When had he allowed himself this weakness, this distraction? Yet, he couldn't imagine turning away from Starscream either.  
  
Was it love? He wasn't sure he could say that either. He wasn't sure he knew what it was enough to identify it. He knew he held a deep affection for Starscream. He knew Starscream's absence left him feeling lost.  
  
But was it love?  
  
The door opened. Grimlock spun toward it, spark surging toward his intake when he realized it wasn't Glit or Breakdown this time, but his creator.  
  
“Ratchet…?”  
  
“He's fine,” Ratchet said with a small smile. “It worked. The virus has been eradicated from his system.”  
  
Tension left Grimlock in a whoosh, so fast dizziness rose in its wake. He stumbled, and Ratchet was quickly there, grabbing his elbow and steadying him.  
  
“Easy,” he said gruffly, urging Grimlock toward the windowed wall where he could brace himself against the ledge. “You stood out here the whole time, didn't you?”  
  
He nodded. “If anything happened, I didn't want to be far.”  
  
“Primus save me from partners,” Ratchet sighed and patted his other arm. “Well, you can be reassured he's going to recover now. It's going to take some time for his self-repair to reactivate and for us to undo all the damage the virus caused, but he'll live.”  
  
Grimlock hooked an arm around his creator and crushed Ratchet against him, leaning his helm against the medic's. Ratchet made a sound not unlike a squawk, but returned the embrace, patting him gently on the back.  
  
“Thank you,” he said.  
  
“Sadly, you owe some of that thanks to Shockwave, too. But don't tell him I said that,” Ratchet replied, his vocals muffled.  
  
He twitched, and Grimlock released him, letting Ratchet step out of his embrace. He made a show of brushing at his armor, but his field echoed nothing but amused affection.  
  
“But yes, you are welcome.” Ratchet's lips curved toward a smile. “It’s my duty, but more than that, I couldn’t let my kid’s Intended die. What kind of slag-poor parent would that make me?”  
  
Intended. A part of Grimlock squirmed with delight every time he heard someone else acknowledge the path Starscream allowed them to venture.  
  
He turned toward the window, looking in on Knock Out and Glit, who were disconnecting Starscream from most of the machines. A few remained, such as those offering him much needed fluids. But the main ones – those Grimlock recognized as urgent life support – were being removed.  
  
“Can I see him?”  
  
“As soon as they are done, yes. There should be more room now,” Ratchet replied with a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “If all goes well, he should be awake in a day or two, and able to leave the berth in a little under a week.”  
  
Grimlock cycled a ventilation. “You know the moment he's conscious, he won't stay in that berth.”  
  
“Then I guess you're going to have to find a way to keep him there, aren't you?” Ratchet retorted with a smirk he had to have borrowed from Wheeljack.  
  
Grimlock's engine rumbled with amusement, and he admitted, relief. His creator had come so far from the flinching, agitated way he'd been when first rescued from Constructicon custody. He'd remembered how to smile again.  
  
“I'll see what I can do,” Grimlock said with a small laugh. “In the meantime, what do you need?”  
  
“Me? I'm fine. I've certainly worked longer hours than this. I--” Ratchet paused, drawing up short. He lifted a hand to his comm. “Ratchet here.”  
  
Grimlock waited with him, and nearly recoiled at the sudden blast of outrage and worry in Ratchet's field. Ratchet startled and then started moving before he finished his conversation, his field a broil of emotion.  
  
Girmlock followed.  
  
“I'll be there as soon as I can, Aid. Just keep him alive until I can get there.” Ratchet paused, and his free hand formed a fist. “I know you can do it. My comms open. Just shout if you have a question.”  
  
He dropped his hand and whirled, almost surprised to see Grimlock right behind him. “I have to go,” he said in a rush. “There's an emergency in Iacon. Jazz has been shot.”  
  
“Shot?” Grimlock's engine growled. “On purpose?”  
  
“That would be my guess.” Ratchet scraped a hand down his face, his armor clamped tight to his frame. “This is all we need, so soon after Starscream. Metalhawk's trying his damndest to thrust us back toward war, isn't he?”  
  
Grimlock rested his hands on his creator's shoulders. “He may try, but rest assured, he will fail.” He squeezed briefly before stepping back. “Go, Ratchet. There's nothing more you need do here. I'm sure Knock Out is adequate at this stage.”  
  
“That he is. I'll be back if you need me.”  
  
“I know. You always do.”  
  
Ratchet's lips twitched toward a fond smile, and then he was gone, twisting into alt-mode and careening down the halls with a screech of his tires. He would probably cause a ruckus ahead of him, so Grimlock sent a quick warning to the gate guards and Cyclonus both, though it was Thundercracker who answered him.  
  
Jazz had been attacked. It smacked of Metalhawk's meddling, Grimlock was certain. But outwardly, he knew how it appeared. For the most part, Jazz was responsible for ensuring Megatron's defeat and that of many Decepticons. Every Megatron-loyal Decepticon in Grimlock's brig certainly blamed him. There was much loathing present.  
  
It wasn't a stretch for many to jump to the conclusion that Jazz's condition was retaliation. Not just for Megatron's death, but also for the attack on Starscream. If Grimlock hadn't known Optimus – and Jazz better – that would have been his assumption as well.  
  
Grimlock gave Metalhawk only the dimmest credit. He knew enough of how both Autobots and Decepticons functioned to plot something like this, but missed the mark in understanding Grimlock.  
  
This plot would have worked were Megatron still in charge. Fortunately for everyone but Metalhawk, Megatron was dead, and Grimlock was too smart to fall for it.  
  
He made a mental note to contact Optimus once the initial chaos had passed. He doubted Optimus would blame the Decepticons for a single second, but it never hurt to be cautious. Beside that, Grimlock hoped Jazz would recover.  
  
Then again, Grimlock had yet to meet anything that could put Jazz down.  
  
Grimlock turned back toward Starscream's private room. The door opened as he approached, Glit appearing first.  
  
“Good eve, my lord,” the feline medic greeted with a dip of his head. “Ratchet shared the good news?”  
  
“He did,” Grimlock replied. “I trust all is well?”  
  
“As much as it can be.” Glit's small talons clicked on the floor. “It is my professional opinion that Commander Starscream will make a full recovery. I am on duty for the remainder of the evening if you have any questions.”  
  
“I'll keep that in mind. Thank you.”  
  
Glit dipped his head again and dismissed himself, just as Knock Out emerged behind him, grumbling something subvocally. Where Glit had been almost scarily polite, the fatigue in Knock Out's field gave excuse to his foul mood.  
  
“Lord Grimlock,” he greeted, a touch tersely. “You'll be happy to know that Commander Starscream is on the mend. Right now, we've given him several batches of neutral nanites to speed the repair progress, and he's resting comfortably.”  
  
“Thank you, Knock Out. I am sure he's in capable hands,” Grimlock replied.  
  
Knock Out paused and cycled his optics. His field spiked before he reined it in. “I… of course, my lord. Whatever my failings, I am a medic.” His face heated, and he took a sudden step backward. “I mean, forgive me, I've been working non-stop on Commander Starscream, and I think it's time that I get some recharge so if you'll excuse me…?”  
  
The look in Knock Out's optics all but begged for dismissal.  
  
Grimlock waved him off. “Go. Rest. I'll ask Glit if I need something.”  
  
Honest gratitude glimmered briefly in Knock Out's field before he was gone, barely an echo of his presence left in the medbay. That was… unusual. Perhaps something to attend at a later date. Or maybe he'd ask Snarl.  
  
Grimlock cycled a ventilation and turned back to Starscream's private room. He stepped inside without fanfare, his gaze falling on the berth and its sole occupant. Much of the equipment had been moved aside, with less cabling to coil around Starscream like a hungry serpent.  
  
It was easier to move, to make his way to Starscream's berthside, where one of the medics had been thoughtful enough to return Grimlock's stool to its rightful position. He lowered himself down into it, taking Starscream's nearest hand with his own.  
  
Warm. Starscream's hand was warm.  
  
The last time he'd sat here, Starscream had felt uncomfortably cool, as though the heat of his spark could go no further than the protection of its casing. He was ventilating on his own as well, and he now had a tangible field, muted though it was.  
  
He would be all right.  
  
Grimlock braced his elbows on the edge of the berth, Starscream's hand clasped between his own. Relief shuddered through him, his vents pitching a whine in complaint. And yet, he couldn't be happier.  
  
Starscream would live.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Everybody Wants to Rule the World," Lorde

Thundercracker's comm chirped half-a-minute before he was due to hand command back over to Scourge. His engine revved from sheer frustration – he was tired, damn it – but it didn't last once he realized it was Grimlock pinging him.   
  
One could not ignore the summons of their Lord and Commander.   
  
He bit back a sigh and accepted the ping. Grimlock had better show up for his next shift or so help him Primus, Thundercracker would have words with the entirety of the command staff, Starscream in medbay or not. They might not have been as understaffed as the Autobots, but they still lacked in command mechs.   
  
That was going to change, and soon, if Thundercracker had his way.   
  
“Thundercracker here.”   
  
“I need a headcount,” Grimlock said by way of greeting. “I need a list of every Decepticon's location as of last night for three hours surrounding midnight. I also need someone to double-check that all prisoners are accounted for and that none could have slipped from their cells.”   
  
Thundercracker cycled his optics. “Has there been a breach?”   
  
“Not in Iacon, but in Polyhex. Optimus' third was attacked last night, suspected assassination attempt.” A low growl echoed through the comm. “I've no doubt Metalhawk is behind it, but I still want data to back us up.”   
  
“I understand. I will gather that information as soon as possible.” Faster, even. This was a potential disaster in the making. “Shall I transmit it to you or--”  
  
“No. I'll send someone to retrieve it. Thank you, Thundercracker.”   
  
“Yes, sir.” He hesitated to switch the topic to something unprofessional, but since he had Grimlock on the line, it couldn't hurt to ask. “How is Starscream?”   
  
The business-like nature of Grimlock's vocals warmed. “He's expected to make a full recovery. I'll let you know when he can have visitors. Grimlock, out.”   
  
The comm went silent. Ever abrupt, Grimlock was. And of course he left Thundercracker with a wealth of work to do, something he couldn't simply entrust to Scourge.   
  
No. Come to think of it, he could impart half of it to Scourge. Cyclonus' former second doubled as their prison warden after all. He'd know best about the prisoners.   
  
As for the rest…  
  
A smile tugged on Thundercracker's lips.   
  
It was time that Skywarp got off his lazy aft and did some work around here. If Thundercracker had to work instead of recharging, then so would Skywarp.   
  


~

  
  
Nonsense.   
  
It was all nonsense.   
  
Knock Out cursed and whipped the datapad across the floor. It smacked into the wall and tumbled to the ground with a satisfying crack and crinkle of broken transsteel. His engine growled as he glared at the damaged thing.   
  
It was nonsense, and it was pointless, and he didn't even know why he bothered to try. What was the point anyway? No one cared if Knock Out knew how to code or could read the damn language. They had Shockwave. They had Perceptor. They didn't need some body modification surgeon making a half-afted effort.   
  
Knock Out huffed a ventilation and stomped across the floor. He swept the datapad up and tossed it into the trash can nearby. He glared at the debris left behind, and ground his denta. He should clean that up, but frag if he wanted to.   
  
“You Knock Out broke thing?”   
  
Knock Out whipped around, surprise echoing in his field. He'd thought he was alone, but no, there was Snarl, the Dinobot peering around the corner at him.   
  
“No,” Knock Out snapped and spun toward the datapad shelf again. “It was broken when I found it.”   
  
“Want me Snarl fix it?”   
  
His engine revved. “What's the point?” Knock Out retorted, though it came out more petulant than anything. “It's not going to help me.”   
  
“Help you Knock Out with what?”   
  
Pedesteps. A heavy tread. Well, not even his sour disposition could convince the Dinobot to take shelter elsewhere it seemed. Then again, Snarl did claim Ratchet for a genitor, and Grimlock for an older brother, and Slag for another sibling.   
  
“Nothing,” Knock Out ground out. He flicked a hand dismissively at Snarl. “Don't you have somewhere to be? Aren't you off?”   
  
Though, did Snarl even have duties? True Snarl had been given assignment to the medbay, but he wasn't on the roster. He just seemed to show up whenever he felt like it, and did whatever duty Knock Out pointed him toward.   
  
“Me Snarl where me want be. You Knock Out want energon?”   
  
“Do I… what on Cybertron are you talking about?” Knock Out turned back toward the Dinobot, his face creased with confusion.   
  
Sure enough, Snarl held out a cube of energon to him, the same as before, midgrade spiced with magnesium filings, perfectly mixed and Knock Out's favorite. Snarl didn't have a cube of his own either, which meant he'd consumed it already, or had brought this one specifically for Knock Out.   
  
It was late. Too late for any rational mech to be here in the medbay except for the third-shift medic which was Knock Out this time around. He should be alone right now, except for his patients, of which there was just the one – Starscream.   
  
“You Knock Out should refuel,” Snarl said, pushing it toward him again.   
  
Knock Out didn’t know what else to do but accept it. He drew the cube toward his mouth, in-venting the delicate scent. It did smell wonderful, and he found himself drinking half of it before he could think otherwise.   
  
“Thank you,” he said with a little sigh, and rubbed at his forehelm. “I apologize for shouting.”   
  
“That not shouting,” Snarl said with a shrug. “You should hear Mama Ratchet. _That_ shouting.”   
  
Knock Out's lips curved. “So I've been informed.” He shifted his weight, cocking a hip as he looked at Snarl again. “Shouldn't you be home? It's the middle of the night.”   
  
Snarl shrugged and ambled further into the room Knock Out had claimed for a pseudo office. “Why you Knock Out throw datapad?”   
  
Knock Out pressed his lips together and focused on the energon cube. He didn't much like that his ridiculous tantrum had been witnessed. Besides, he didn't want to talk about it.   
  
“You can tell me Snarl,” the Dinobot insisted, his field rising, but indecipherable to Knock Out, as it often was. “Me Snarl listen good. Me Snarl keep secrets good, too. No one talks to me Snarl so me Snarl have no one to tell.”   
  
Knock Out shook his helm and spun toward his desk. “It's not something you'd understand, though thanks for your concern.” He flopped into his chair and leaned his helm back, offlining his optics. “You should go home.”   
  
“Don't wanna.” There was a loud thump as Snarl dropped into the chair across from Knock Out, making a few of his decorative items rattle. “You Knock Out need talk. Me Snarl need listen. Me Snarl stay.”   
  
Knock Out onlined an optic and peered at the Dinobot, who sat there as stubbornly as his elder brother had earlier today. “You won't go away until I do, will you?”   
  
“Nope. Got nothing better to do,” Snarl replied with a smile full of denta. And apparently, all the patience in the world.   
  
“Fine.” He cycled a ventilation. “I threw the datapad because I don't understand it.”   
  
Snarl blinked at him. “That make no sense.”   
  
“I'm aware of that.” Knock Out's lips curled into a thin curve. “Frustration often results in actions that are both unproductive and make no sense.”   
  
“Why you no understand?”   
  
Knock Out scraped his hand down his face. “Because I didn't pay attention when I should have, and I never learned.”   
  
“You Knock Out can learn now.”   
  
“No, I can't. I tried.” He made a vague gesture toward the debris on the floor, and the datapad that was no longer of use. “It doesn't matter anyway.”   
  
“Me Snarl say it do.” The chair creaked beneath Snarl as he leaned forward. “You Knock Out no understand cause you need teaching. Same with me Snarl.” One hand knocked the Dinobot's helm. “Can't learn what don't know.”   
  
Knock Out stared at him.   
  
Should he be concerned that Snarl's comment actually made sense to him? That of course he couldn't teach himself something he never understood in the first place.   
  
Only…   
  
Only that meant he would have to ask for help. He would have to grit his denta and make a comm. He would have to put his pride aside and admit that yes, he had his failings, and yes, he wanted to correct them.   
  
Knock Out's tank twisted.   
  
No. There was no way he was going to contact Ratchet, the CMO of the Autobots and a legend unto himself across all Cybertronians, and admit he needed help. Frag that. No. No way.   
  
Not that First Aid kid either. Learn from some kid who was learning himself? The one who was already set to do great things, since Ratchet had decided Aid would be his successor?   
  
Double no thank you.   
  
“You call Mama Ratchet. He help,” Snarl said.   
  
Knock Out emphatically shook his helm. “Absolutely not. I'd rather throw myself into a hail storm.” Damage to his paint and all.   
  
He rapped his fingertips on the desk, a frown pulling at his lips. He refused to go to an Autobot for help. However… the Neutrals had a medic, didn't they? Ambulon, he thought the name was, a former Decepticon.   
  
Yes, his paintjob was atrocious, and Knock Out was sure the mech didn't know how to smile, but he'd seemed professional enough. Exchanging resources had been part of the treaty. He supposed it couldn't hurt to ask and pfft. Like he cared what a bunch of Neutrals thought about him anyway.   
  
Besides, wasn't Ambulon helping the Autobots with their spark-twin problem? That meant he had training. Good training. The kind of training that could decipher the mess of coding on the datapad Knock Out hadn't destroyed.   
  
“But,” Knock Out said slowly before Snarl could suggest someone else, “perhaps Ambulon would be willing to teach me.”   
  
“Me don't know him Ambulon.” Snarl shrugged. “But whatever you Knock Out say.” He leaned forward, plopping his elbows on the desk. “You call now?”   
  
Knock Out shifted in his chair. “It's the middle of the night.”   
  
“So?”   
  
Despite himself, Knock Out chuckled. “They really didn't give you many social protocols, did they?”   
  
Snarl snorted at him. “Me Snarl learning,” he said. “Me Snarl need teacher, too.”   
  
“Really?” Knock Out leaned forward, bracing his elbows and tangling his fingers together. His lips curved into a smile. “Are you asking me for a favor, Snarl?” He had to admit, it was an intriguing idea.   
  
Besides, he figured he had to find some way to say thank you for all the things Snarl had fixed in the medbay. He was proving to be more use and less trouble than Knock Out had initially feared.   
  
That he could remember Knock Out's favorite energon was a definite plus.   
  
“Not favor. Just asking,” Snarl said, and he ducked his helm as though embarrassed. “Me Snarl no want sound stupid anymore.”   
  
It felt like a punch to the spark. Knock Out could sympathize. Wasn't it the very same thing he was just ranting to himself about? How very little he knew in his professed field.   
  
“All right,” Knock Out agreed quietly. “I'll teach you, and maybe you can show me how to fix the converter.”  
  
Snarl's helm snapped back up. “Me Snarl just fixed that!”   
  
“Yeah. Well, I might have… broken it? Again.” Knock Out coughed a ventilation over his shoulder, letting his apology fizzle in his field. “Do we have a deal?”   
  
Snarl grumbled something and shoved his hand across the desk. “Okay,” he said. “Deal.”   
  
Well, Knock Out reasoned as they shook. It wasn't the worst decision he'd ever made. Besides, it might even turn out to be fun, and that was definitely something in short supply around here.   
  


~

  
  
Starscream surfaced to consciousness, feeling dull, achy, and parched. It was a familiar sensation, one he'd grown to loathe during the entirety of his tenure with the Decepticons. Sadly, his short-term memory was not being helpful.   
  
What had he done to frag off Megatron this time around?   
  
He didn't online his optics, not just yet. Nor did he move. He didn't want Hook to know he was online, because that usually meant Megatron would be alerted, and he'd come by just to snarl and threaten at Starscream all over again.   
  
Recovery was never a solitary process either.   
  
System checks returned. The diagnosis confused him. He'd been repaired, but there was no evidence of physical damage. Instead, it looked as though his internals had taken a beating. His processing felt sluggish, his ventilations shallow.   
  
That was new.   
  
Awareness returned, albeit at a slow crawl. He registered that he was connected to a few machines, one of which was definitely an energon drip. His levels currently hovered at sixty percent, which was pretty standard for a mechanism who had gone through surgery recently. But he wasn't alone. His field detected that of another, albeit one that was in a resting state.   
  
No one ever bothered to hover by his berthside after Megatron’s lessons. Thundercracker and Skywarp used to, until they learned that could often cultivate Megatron's wrath on its own. Megatron wanted Starscream isolated. Wanted him abandoned and alone.   
  
He certainly succeeded in that much.   
  
Starscream couldn't pretend to be unconscious forever. He wouldn't be the coward who hid from Megatron's rage. He would find a way. He always did.   
  
Steadying himself, Starscream forced his optics online. Above him, a metallic ceiling held white lights at half-power.   
  
This was not the Victory. He'd have known the Constructicon medbay anywhere, and this was not it.   
  
Sluggish processing kernels started to show some life. Memories filtered in, slotting back into place. No. The Decepticons had abandoned the Victory and Earth. They'd pulled back to Cybertron. Because Starscream had a plan and for once, Megatron had listened.   
  
Had that plan failed? Was that what required this punishment?   
  
Or… No. No, the plan had succeeded. It had succeeded too well, as a matter of fact. Megatron reveled in his victory. He gloated about it, as though the plan had been his all along.   
  
He'd killed Skyfire.   
  
Yes. Starscream remembered now. He'd killed any Autobot capable of space travel, and then every Autobot capable of flight. He'd hunted down the rest and made them captives. He'd destroyed Optimus Prime in all but name.   
  
Until…  
  
Starscream turned his helm and found the origin of the second energy field, draped over the side of Starscream's medberth and deep in recharge. One hand enclosed one of Starscream's, and ex-vents tickled at his plating.   
  
Grimlock.   
  
Starscream twitched his hand, easing it from Grimlock's loosened hold. It took greater effort than he liked to move it toward his lover, resting his palm against the side of Grimlock's helm. His thumb brushed the edge of Grimlock's face mask as he heard Grimlock's ventilations tick upward, signs that he was waking.   
  
His field reached out, searching for Starscream's, and it was sad that his own was ragged as it reached back. Something had done a number on him. Something that was not Megatron, obviously. The last thing Starscream remembered was feeling odd seconds before he blacked out mid-flight.   
  
Grimlock's visor dimmed and then lit. He lifted his helm, visor turning toward Starscream, and then his field spiked, jagged and warm.   
  
“Starscream…?”  
  
“How long was I out?” Starscream asked, alarmed by the croak in his vocalizer. It grated and ground as though it hadn't been activated in days.   
  
His hand slid from Grimlock's helm to his shoulder and down Grimlock's arm, until Grimlock captured it again as he sat up straight.   
  
“A little under two weeks,” Grimlock answered, his voice wreathed in static as well. “There was a moment there we feared you wouldn't survive.”   
  
Starscream cycled his vocalizer. “Survive what?”   
  
“A virus.” Grimlock squeezed his hand, his field almost suffocating the way it surrounded Starscream and encloaked him. “One Acid Storm passed to you when you exchanged datapads.”   
  
Acid Storm?   
  
Starscream went cold internally. One of his own had betrayed him? Not only a Decepticon, but a Seeker as well? He wished he weren't so surprised. He knew Acid Storm had expressed displeasure with Starscream's leadership, but to attempt to kill him?   
  
Starscream worked his intake. “I assume he is in the brig then?”   
  
“No. Acid Storm fled to Nova Cronum. He is under Metalhawk's protection right now.” Grimlock's free hand rubbed at his mask, his field spiking with irritation. “In case you were wondering where he got such a virus.”   
  
Anger spiked within Starscream, but he didn't have enough energy to sustain it. There was only a tired outrage. Then again, he should have known. Kill Starscream was sort of the Decepticon mantra. That no one had ever succeeded didn't make it less so.   
  
“I see,” Starscream said, but his lips softened into a smile nonetheless because Grimlock was here. “And you… you've been here?”   
  
Grimlock scooted forward, leaning close enough that he could press their forehelms together. “Where else would I be?”   
  
“I don't know. Running the Decepticons perhaps?”   
  
Grimlock loosed a soft chuckle. “Cyclonus and Thundercracker, though not happy with it, have been more than capable substitutes.”   
  
“Mmm.” Fatigue tugged at Starscream. He couldn't shake it. “I guess since I'm awake, I'm going to make it?”   
  
Grimlock squeezed his hand, his field wrapping around Starscream. “Yes. Your frame needs to recover. The virus infected your self-repair. So you'll be berthbound for a bit, but yes, Starscream, you're going to make it.”   
  
“That's good.” Starscream managed a smile, his field reaching for Grimlock's as well. “Guess I'm still hard to kill.”   
  
“I'm glad for that.” Grimlock leaned back. He pulled Starscream's hand to his mouthplate and pressed Starscream's knuckles against it. “I didn't want to lose you.”   
  
Starscream's spark throbbed. “You could have just found another Seeker,” he said flippantly.   
  
“Not when you're the one I want.” Grimlock's visor dimmed, his vocals crackling with static. “Do not even joke about such things.”   
  
Starscream worked his intake. The fierceness in Grimlock's reply surprised him. “You sure?” he asked, ignoring the tug of fatigue, the pop ups that insisted he return to the pull of recharge. “Fun is all well and good, but I'm damaged goods, my lord. There's a lot more broken in me than that virus caused.”   
  
“You are neither damaged nor broken, but one of the strongest mechs I know,” Grimlock insisted, leaning closer. “You will recover, you will get out of this berth, and together, we will make sure Metalhawk is not a threat, the DJD are nothing to fear, and the Decepticons should have been in your hands all along.”  
  
Starscream's ventilations hitched. “You mean that.”   
  
“Yes, I do.” Grimlock's hands squeezed his. “I asked to court you, and I meant that as well. Circumstances what they are, I haven't even begun to show you how much.”   
  
Starscream's mouth opened, but he had no words. His spark was squeezing in his chassis, as though the emotion was too heavy to bear. There was nothing but sincerity in Grimlock's voice, in his field.   
  
One of Grimlock's hands cupped his helm, thumb sweeping over his cheek. “You need to rest now. In this berth, mind. Don't think I don't know you're going to try and get out of it.”   
  
“I don't much like lying around,” Starscream admitted, and he pressed his helm into Grimlock's hand, unable to help his need for comfort. “But I guess I have to in this case. I don't think I can move anyway.”   
  
“That's because most of your motor relays are still non-responsive.” Grimlock paused and tilted his helm as he straightened. “Hold on. Optimus is pinging me.”   
  
Starscream frowned. What in the world could the Prime want now? What had he missed while he was unconscious and aberth?  
  
Whatever had happened, the conversation was happening internally. Grimlock had no expression to read, but his field rippled with irritation, and just a hint of agitation. His fingers tightened briefly around Starscream's, before his visor brightened and he focused on Starscream again.   
  
“Damn,” he muttered. “Duty calls.”   
  
“What does Optimus want?”   
  
“To discuss Metalhawk and Jazz both,” Grimlock replied with a heavy ventilation. “Jazz was attacked two nights ago, suspected assassination attempt, though Metalhawk's the only one who thinks they blame us.”   
  
Starscream's optics cycled wide. “All that happening and you think I'm going to remain in the berth?”  
  
Grimlock chuckled and rose to his pedes. “I think that's exactly where you're going to stay.”   
  
Starscream huffed. “And why is that?”   
  
“Because you'll be scarier when you're repaired.” He leaned over the berth, pressing his mouthplate to Starscream's forehelm. “Recharge. Recover. I'll return as soon as I can.”   
  
Starscream grumbled, but even if he wanted to argue otherwise he couldn't. His frame betrayed him with fatigue. Warmth flooded his internals.   
  
“All right,” he said, and found himself reluctant to let Grimlock go as his partner – his Intended – drew back. “Stay safe out there.”   
  
Grimlock chuckled. “Me Grimlock Lord,” he said, affecting his former speech patterns as one hand thumped his chestplate. “No one defeat me Grimlock.”   
  
“You're lucky I find that charming,” Starscream muttered. But it did put a small smile on his face.   
  
Recharge tugged at him harder, his awareness slowly pulling inward as his systems began shifting into standby.   
  
“Come back later,” Starscream murmured as he felt himself sliding back toward the dark, though this time it was warm and welcome, rather than alarming.   
  
Grimlock said something back, but it was lost to the embrace of recharge.   
  


~

  
  
“Captain on deck!”   
  
“Welcome, captain,” Thundercracker said as Krok stepped onto the central command platform. He'd never been so glad to see another Decepticon before.   
  
Thundercracker was exhausted and ready to go back to berth to snuggle with Swoop and Skywarp. He’d worked a double yesterday, including finding that information for Lord Grimlock, and today, he’d worked a shift and a half. All he wanted now was a nice long night of uninterrupted recharge as well, and both of his flying companions owed him a nice polish.   
  
Krok snapped off a quick salute. “Anything I should know before I take over?” he asked with an air of professionalism Thundercracker greatly appreciated.   
  
“No.” Thundercracker shook his helm and gestured to the calm command center around him, where the rest of the stations were being swapped out for shift change as well. “All's quiet so far. Keep an audial open for potential communiques from Nova Cronum or Polyhex, but otherwise, there's nothing to worry about.”   
  
“Good to know.” Krok tilted his helm and looked at him, visor glowing dimly. “And if you don't mind me saying so, sir, you could use some recharge.”   
  
Thundercracker chuckled. “Don't I know it. If you need an answer from higher up, Cyclonus should be out of his scheduled recharge in an hour.”   
  
“Will do.” Krok nodded and folded his arms behind his back, taking Thundercracker's place. “Have a pleasant recharge.”   
  
“I shall certainly try.” Thundercracker dipped his helm in farewell and turned to go, relief throbbing through every inch of his achy, exhausted struts.   
  
Which was of course the moment something in the command panel behind him started to chime. He told himself to ignore it, to keep walking. Krok was on duty; Krok could handle it.   
  
“Frag,” the Scavenger captain cursed, loud enough that it rang through Thundercracker's audials and snagged him. “Sir, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think this is above my paygrade.”   
  
Of course it was. When would they get to the part where Thundercracker said he didn’t want to lead and others believed him?  
  
Thundercracker's shoulders sagged. He turned back toward Krok, mentally preparing a list of Decepticons who needed the worst duties. “What is it?”   
  
“A new arrival.” Krok pressed several keys on the console, activating the main screen and tapping into the surveillance system. “Due to land in about fifteen minutes, it just broke atmosphere.”  
  
Thundercracker's optics lifted to the screen as a sleek, silver ship came into view. “Decepticon?”   
  
“That depends on who you're asking,” Krok said in a tight tone. His plating shivered. “It's the _Peaceful Tyranny_.”   
  
Thundercracker stepped closer, his orbital ridge drawing down. “Should that name mean something to me?”  
  
Krok glanced around them and then lowered his vocals, stepping closer. “It's the ship that belongs to the Decepticon Justice Division, sir,” he said, anxiety leaking into his field and his tone.   
  
Thundercracker startled, his spark strobing in his chassis. “How did we not track their arrival sooner?” he demanded as he lurched toward the console, already queuing up the emergency contact list in his processor.   
  
“We don't have a communications specialist! And they can cloak their ship,” Krok explained as he moved aside, to another console. The screen above them split, showing several surveillance angles. “I'd brought the decoding algorithm with me, but they must have reprogrammed their shields. I'm sorry.”   
  
Thundercracker shook his helm. “It's not your fault. You did the best you could. Contact the medbay and let them know we have incoming. I'll ping Grimlock. After that, start prepping the troops, put everyone on standby.”   
  
“Yes, sir.”   
  
Thundercracker worked his intake, and tried not to let his worry consume him. They were only five mechs. Powerful, skilled, and talented mechs. But there were only five. Clearly, they wouldn't be able to destroy the entirety of the Decepticons on their own.   
  
It was the casualties required to take them down, however, that had Thundercracker worried.   
  
He braced himself and pinged Grimlock.   
  
“Sir, we have a situation.”   
  


~

  
  
Glit had just walked out the door, it sliding shut behind him, when Knock Out's comm pinged. He groaned, rubbing a hand down his faceplate. Seriously? The moment he took over?   
  
“Knock Out here,” he answered as he browsed the datapad Glit had left for him. It was his report on Starscream's progress and the list of maintenance appointments Knock Out had for the day – fewer than he would have expected.   
  
“It's Thundercracker,” came the terse response. “We're on high alert. Prep the medbay for potential casualties and lock it down in case of a breach. I've contacted Blackout and Spinister both as extra security.”   
  
Knock Out paused midstep, his spark thumping his chassis. “Are we under attack?”   
  
“Of a sort. The DJD will land in ten minutes.”   
  
The DJD!?   
  
Knock Out's datapad nearly flew out of his hands. Primus! He looked down, checking and reassuring himself that his Decepticon badge was present and accounted for. Sure, sometimes, he didn't bother to keep it because it clashed with his paintjob. But at times like these, a little color-clashing couldn't hurt, right?   
  
There it was, an unsightly bright purple mark in the middle of his hood. An unsightly badge that might be enough to save his spark.   
  
_Might._   
  
Did it count if he was a Decepticon under Grimlock, a former Autobot? Or would they all be considered guilty by association?   
  
Oh, Primus. He'd helped repair an Autobot or two, hadn't he?   
  
He was doomed. Totally and utterly doomed.   
  
“Knock Out!”   
  
Thundercracker growled at him across the comm, snatching Knock Out from his spiraling thoughts of despair. His hands shook, he realized. He couldn't run. There was nowhere to run.   
  
“I'll...” Knock Out paused, cycled a ventilation. “I'll prepare the medbay, sir.” He lifted his gaze to the door, where Snarl and Breakdown perched at their respective workstations. The former was repairing some kind of pump; the latter was studying a basic skills datapad.   
  
“It is a precaution. We're already establishing a line of defense, but put Blackout on Starscream's door anyway,” Thundercracker added, sounding as harried as Knock Out felt. “They'll come for him if we fall.”   
  
Knock Out's ventilations stuttered. He thought, for a split-second, that he should flee while he still could. He'd seen remnants of Tarn's idea of justice. He'd seen the lowest of what Megatron was capable, and knew his enforcers were ten times worse.   
  
“Then I pray that you do not fall, sir,” Knock Out said, with more bravery then he ever thought himself capable.   
  
“At this point, prayers can only help. Thundercracker out.” The line went dead. It buzzed with empty space.   
  
Knock Out stared unseeing into the distance. Fear warred with duty. He knew what he was supposed to do. He didn't know if he was brave enough to do it.   
  
He stepped into the main atrium, and both Breakdown and Snarl looked up at him. “We're expecting unfriendlies shortly,” Knock Out said by way of warning. “I'll be remaining here to prepare for casualties. As for you two--”  
  
“Me Snarl stay,” Snarl said with a huff, turning back toward his work. His shoulders hunched. “Medics always need protection. Me Snarl stay.”   
  
“I'll stay, too,” Breakdown added, though it was with a ducked helm. He didn’t sound as confident as Snarl. “I mean, I don't really have anywhere else to go, and I'm still not allowed to have my weapons, but I'll do what I can, you know?”   
  
Knock Out leaned against the frame and watched them both. “It is the DJD,” he said.   
  
“So?” Snarl asked.   
  
“They'll find me eventually.” Breakdown shrugged. “Like Dead End would say, 'why delay the inevitable?'” He leaned back over his datapad.   
  
And that, Knock Out supposed was that. He couldn't very well run away now. Besides, where would he go?   
  
“Suit yourselves,” Knock Out said, pushing himself off the frame and waving at them dismissively. “But don't say I didn't warn you.”   
  
Snarl's dismissive snort followed him back out.   
  


~

  
  
Cyclonus ended the comm with Krok and cursed subvocally, a low growl building in his intake. He'd gotten rest, but only just, and now was the worst time for something to happen, which explained why the DJD picked this moment to arrive.   
  
It was only a matter of time before the all call to battle standby went out. Cyclonus himself knew he would be on the frontlines. He would not trust his safety to others, and as third in command, he felt it was his duty to stand against the DJD.   
  
Cyclonus had never been fond of Megatron's justice department, or Megatron's decision to create one. It was one of many reasons Cyclonus had taken his unit and volunteered for the more distant outposts. Tarn's brand of loyalty was something that Cyclonus did not want anyone in his unit to emulate.   
  
Cyclonus moved to his locked cabinet and pulled open the doors. There was a single item he kept in here, one meant for emergencies only. The Great Sword was not a weapon to use lightly. It was one for times of desperation.   
  
This counted as one.   
  
Cyclonus removed the sword from its housing and attached it to the clasp on his back, one that often went unused. He felt the gem in the hilt reach for and latch into his energy field. His spark pulsed in greeting.   
  
But therein lay the danger.   
  
Cyclonus closed the cabinet and headed for the door. There was nothing else he needed here. Nothing except…  
  
He paused and accessed his comm, dialing Tailgate's private line. The minibot would be receiving the call to arms soon, and Cyclonus did not want him to respond. Tailgate had no business fighting. If he had only listened to reason, he'd still be in Nova Cronum, in relative safety.   
  
Tailgate picked up almost immediately. “Cyclonus? Shouldn't you still be in recharge? What's wrong?”   
  
“Do you remember where the nearest maintenance tunnel access is?”   
  
“Of course I do.” Tailgate's confusion flooded his vocals. “Why are you asking me that? Is there a problem?”   
  
Cyclonus cycled a ventilation and told himself not to pace. The Great Sword sent a wave of reassurance, but it fell flat. “The Decepticons are facing an attack. I want you to head for the tunnels and take them straight to Nova Cronum.”   
  
If Iacon fell, Cyclonus had no doubt Polyhex was next. He prayed Metalhawk had enough sense to leave were such to happen. Cyclonus did not know if Tarn would target the Neutrals or not. Megatron had never been fond of anything that branded itself Neutral, claiming they were merely almost-Autobots.   
  
“What? No! I can fight!” Tailgate argued, the huff of his ventilations transferring through the comm. “I don't want to run away!”   
  
“The DJD don't care how brave you are, Tailgate!” Cyclonus snapped and had to force himself to cycle back. He rubbed a hand down his faceplate. “They will murder you and mutilate you because they can. And they will laugh while they do it. If I must fight them, then I cannot do it whilst I am concerned for your safety. Do you understand?”  
  
Silence.   
  
“Tailgate?”   
  
“You're worried about me,” the minibot finally responded, though he sounded more subdued than Cyclonus expected. “I do understand that. And… and I'll do what you ask. This time. But don't you dare die, Cyclonus. You hear me?” His words gained strength by the end, until they were fierce and strong.   
  
Cyclonus bowed his helm, hands pulling into loose fists at his side. “I am not in the habit of making promises I cannot keep, but I mean to survive this.”  
  
“I guess that's all I can ask for.” Tailgate paused before adding, “Good luck, Cyclonus.”   
  
The comm went silent. Cyclonus cycled a ventilation. That was one concern out of the way, now for the rest.   
  
He left the room, dialing one more comm as he did so. Lord Grimlock might not approve of the plan, but Cyclonus was leaving nothing to chance. If the DJD got through the first line of defense, Cyclonus did not intend to give them an opportunity to wreak havoc elsewhere.   
  
“Scourge? I need you to prep contingency plan alpha,” Cyclonus said as his second in command responded. “Be prepared to activate them if the worst should happen, but not until then. Am I clear?”   
  
For what else could stop a threat like Tarn and his band of marauding murderers but a trio of Phase Sixers?   
  
Cyclonus could only hope that it would not come to that.   
  


~

  
  
Surveillance tracking supposed that the _Peaceful Tyranny_ would land here, in the middle of the air field. Having no experience against its commander, Tarn, Grimlock bowed to the knowledge of his subordinates.   
  
Tarn, they said, was a showman. He was all the worst parts of Megatron, including his ego. He would make no attempt to attack in stealth and silence. He would make a production out of it.   
  
So that he would land in the middle of Iacon proper was expected.   
  
Grimlock was not nervous. Agitation threatened to infect his field, but he battled it back down. He would not lose. There was too much at stake. He was not afraid of a handful of soldiers, no matter how special they were. His leadership was on the line. His spark was on the line.   
  
Starscream's spark was on the line.   
  
Grimlock would not lose. He took precautions because he was not an idiot, but he still had no intention of losing. There were only a half-dozen of them. He did not believe for a second that they could get past this line of defense. But he would rather be over-prepared than under-prepared. He would rather know that his soldiers were safe, and Cybertron as well, then let concern distract him.   
  
He refused to fall here. He refused to let Megatron’s favorite pet be his end.   
  
A locator ping made Grimlock look up to see a jet streaking into view overhead before it transformed to root-mode, dropping down to the ground beside him. He recognized Cyclonus immediately, though not the rather large sword strapped to his third's back.   
  
“Scourge is preparing our contingency plan,” Cyclonus said as he folded his arms across his chestplate. “He's dialed into the surveillance and has been instructed not to activate unless we have offlined.”   
  
Grimlock inclined his helm. “Good. The evacuations?”   
  
A loud boom preceded Thundercracker's arrival, seconds before he, too, dropped from the sky to land on Grimlock's other side. Fragging flyers, always had to make an entrance. He was not alone either, both Skywarp and Sunstorm arrived with him, though they were in much better shape than Thundercracker. His field reeked of fatigue, but his optics were bright and angry.   
  
“You are in no condition to fight,” Grimlock observed.   
  
Thundercracker shook his helm. “If I must die, it will be fighting, not asleep in my berth.” He cycled a loud ventilation, his hands forming fists. “Everyone's received the call to arms. Non-combatants are making their way to the gate now. I assume Polyhex is set to welcome them?”   
  
“Polyhex intends to evacuate as well. They will send every non-combatant through the space bridge and they are on standby to do so.” Grimlock shifted his weight, his gaze focused on the horizon. “There are plans in place to destroy it behind them, should the need arise.”   
  
“And here we thought you weren't taking their threat seriously,” Skywarp said with a laugh. “I knew you were smarter than you looked.”   
  
Grimlock cut him a look, not that it did anything to dissuade the cheer in Skywarp's tone.   
  
“We are the first line of defense,” Grimlock said. “I intend for us to be the only line that will be needed.”   
  
“Awful optimistic, aren't you?” Sunstorm commented. His armor gave off a slight glow, and Grimlock seemed to remember hearing he could be radioactive at times.   
  
That would come in handy.   
  
“You could call it that. I am also stubborn and determined.” Grimlock cycled a ventilation. “I'll not lose anyone else.”   
  
Mild noise behind him made Grimlock turn, finding that Brawl, Slag and Swoop had arrived, the former two jostling each other and making macho grunts at one another.   
  
“We fight, too!” Slag announced with a huff and a snort. If he'd been in Dino-mode, he'd have spewed fire as well.   
  
“You are no longer a Decepticon,” Grimlock said, addressing Brawl specifically. Somehow, he didn't think Onslaught would approve of this.   
  
Brawl shrugged. “I'm not anythin' with a badge,” he said, and scratched at his faceguard. “I'm whatever I wanna be and right now, I wanna kick some DJD aft. That a problem?”   
  
“That no problem!” Slag said, loudly. “I kick more DJD aft than you.”   
  
“Hah.” A deep laugh rolled through Brawl's chassis. “We'll see about that.”   
  
“Frankly, I'm all for anyone fighting who wants to fight,” Sunstorm said, his wings twitching and his field a jittery mess. “Especially if it betters the odds.”   
  
“Me Swoop fight,” Swoop said as he came up on Grimlock's side, sliding in next to Thundercracker. “You Grimlock not stand alone.”   
  
Grimlock patted him on the shoulder. He knew better than to argue with any of his brothers, though he strongly wanted to do so. The images of Sludge still haunted him. He would never forgive himself for that failure.   
  
“Snarl's in the medbay,” he said to Swoop.   
  
“Me know.” Swoop grinned, a sparkle glinting in his optics. “Him Snarl have crush on him Knock Out.”   
  
Grimlock rebooted his audials. “What?”   
  
“They are here.” Cyclonus' grim announcement dragged Grimlock back to what was more important, though he slotted that little piece of information to the back of his processor for later.   
  
Cyclonus was correct. Grimlock followed his line of sight to see a sleek, silver ship descending from the sky. It was unerringly headed toward where Grimlock and his Decepticons had gathered.   
  
“Are the snipers in place?” Grimlock asked as his defensive and offensive protocols started cycling into readiness. All around him, he could hear many systems powering on, blasters charging, fields vibrating with agitation.   
  
“Yes,” Cyclonus said.   
  
“I still say we should try bombing it out of the sky,” Skywarp muttered.   
  
“We don't know what kind of ordinance the ship is carrying, Warp,” Thundercracker reminded him as he rubbed a hand down his face. “We risk setting off a massive chain effect.”   
  
“And we don't want that,” Sunstorm said.   
  
No, they did not. And that uncertainty was the only reason Grimlock hadn't ordered that they blow the _Peaceful Tyranny_ out of the sky.   
  
The ship landed, gleaming in the passing starlight. The exit ramp descended, but no one appeared just yet. They liked to make an entrance, Grimlock had heard. Surely, they knew the agitation was only building.   
  
Grimlock pushed to the front of his command staff, his gaze focused on the ship. “If any of you wish to flee now, I will not hold it against you.”   
  
“We're with you, boss,” Skywarp said.   
  
“I refuse to run,” Cyclonus said. “There is something I must protect.”   
  
No one fled. Not that Grimlock expected them to.   
  
A shadow darkened the frame of the ship's docking ramp. In a flash of light, Grimlock saw the echo of a Decepticon badge.   
  
So be it.   
  
Let them come.   
  


****


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Battle for the Sun," Placebo

The mech who first stepped out of the Peaceful Tyranny was nothing terrifying to look at. He was shorter than Megatron, mostly blacks and purples, his face the Decepticon brand and treads suggesting a tank alt-mode. He had two cannons like his idol, and red optics gleamed from the optical slits of the mask.   
  
Grimlock knew, thanks to Starscream's briefing, that this was Tarn, the leader of the Deception Justice Division.   
  
Behind Tarn came his subordinates, the much smaller Kaon, and then the massive Helex and Tesaurus, the both of them easily the size of Overlord or Black Shadow. They were no more menacing than Tarn, though Grimlock understood how they could provoke so much fear. Especially since Kaon held a long leash, which at the end snapped and snarled a ferocious turbohound. There was another, a small blue mech with medic’s crosses. Grimlock did not know this one, save that they did not resemble the Vos who Krok had described. The little blue one did, however, carry a rifle nearly twice their size.   
  
“Greetings,” Tarn said, his voice pleasant as he strode forward, one hand waving in a gesture that the foolish could take as friendly. “I am looking for Grimlock, the mechanism claiming ownership of the Decepticons.”   
  
“I own nothing,” Grimlock replied, just short of a growl. He forewent his usual ploy at idiocy. Tarn, he knew, would not fall for it. “It is a title I earned.”   
  
Tarn tilted his helm, giving Grimlock a sidelong glance. “So they say.” His weight shifted, his helm turning slowly as though assessing the mechs to either side of Grimlock. “Where is Starscream? I would have thought he’d lay claim to the empty throne.”   
  
Grimlock’s engine growled. “If you serve the Decepticons, then you serve me, the rightful leader by combat, by Decepticon law. And yet, you’ve not offered me any honor.”   
  
“Haven’t I? My mistake.” One clawed hand pressed over Tarn’s chassis, the cannon gleaming in the midday light. “It must be that you do not deserve it.”   
  
Grimlock’s armor rippled.   
  
“Easy,” Thundercracker murmured beside him, his gaze locked on Tarn and his associates. “He’s baiting you.”   
  
“I know that,” Grimlock hissed. He lifted his chin, focused his gaze on Tarn once more. “Whether I deserve it is not for you to decide.”   
  
Tarn made a non-committal hum in the back of his vocalizer. “Perhaps. But if I recall, the right of challenge yet exists.”   
  
Grimlock put a lock on his energy field before it could flare out once more. “Or you could stand down, swear an oath to me, and keep your spark.”   
  
Tarn’s optics flashed. “I swore an oath to Lord Megatron and none other. I would sooner die than bend my knee before anyone else.”   
  
“Then he’ll get his wish,” Thundercracker muttered, his optics narrowed, his hands drawn into fists.   
  
“He won’t surrender,” Cyclonus added, his field as carefully contained as Grimlock’s own. “Mechs like Tarn, there’s nothing in them but the madness.”   
  
All things Grimlock already knew.   
  
Grimlock took a single step forward. “I am Lord Grimlock, and I lead the Decepticons.” He lowered his helm, glaring at Tarn through his visor. “They are mine to protect. If you want them, you’ll have to take them from me.”   
  
Tarn laughed. “Gladly.”   
  
A shot fired from Tarn’s left, faster than Grimlock could anticipate and dodge. He moved anyway, saving himself from a chest wound that would have damaged him severely. Nevertheless, the bullet slammed into his right hip, sending fire racing through his substructure and causing energon to well up.   
  
Grimlock didn’t know who was the first to fire back – Skywarp perhaps. Either way, it caused the Decepticon Justice Division to scatter as they powered up their weapons.   
  
“You all right?” Thundercracker asked, leaning in close.   
  
“I’ll survive,” Grimlock grunted and straightened, holding himself proud despite the pain lancing through his side.   
  
He took a single step forward, not caring that he limped. Tarn wanted a fight? Then Grimlock would give him one.   
  
“Decepticons!” Grimlock roared, his armor flaring outward as if in threat. “Attack!”   
  


~

  
  
Rest and recuperation were two things Starscream loathed. Not only because he’d had to endure it far too much in his functioning, but because he’d also been forced to work despite the need for it. Now, although he acknowledged his frame would repair better if he rested, he felt restless.   
  
He wanted to be up, moving, buried deep in work, preferably at Grimlock’s side. Who knew what terrible decisions Grimlock had made in his absence? That mech was entirely too Autobot for his own good.   
  
The feeling intensified when the notification popped up in the corner of his HUD. The entire Decepticon army had been put on full alert. Non-combatants, if any, were being sent to Polyhex. Project Final Resort had been put on standby. Several calls to arms had been issued to key members of Decepticon command.   
  
Starscream knew these orders. He knew this plan. He and Grimlock had spent hours putting it together with Cyclonus’ input to shore out the weaknesses. They’d even passed the finalized version to Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus, as the Autobots played a crucial part in ensuring the safety of non-combatants, however few there were.   
  
The Decepticon Justice Division approached Cybertron, if they hadn’t landed already. And here Starscream was, on his aft in a berth, barely able to move, to function. He was a victim waiting to be murdered.   
  
His spark clenched. His ventilations stuttered.   
  
Worse than that, Grimlock and the others were out there, facing the DJD without Starscream. His Intended, his trine-mates – they stood against those beasts, the monsters Megatron had created. Meanwhile, Starscream was here, trapped on a medberth.   
  
He hated it.   
  
A shadow moved in front of his door. Starscream froze, peering at the dark shape, until he could make out a massive primary engine and rotors. The only rotary still functioning in the Decepticons, at least of that size, was Blackout. One of Cyclonus’ lieutenants and nominally, to be trusted.   
  
A guard perhaps. To keep Starscream in or to prevent assassins out? Perhaps a little bit of both.   
  
It was some relief that Grimlock continued to express concern for his welfare. Though the idea of needing a guard rankled Starscream. He was accustomed to looking after himself because he was the only one who cared enough to do so.   
  
Grimlock, and the relationship they had, was all new territory.   
  
Starscream worked his jaw and ground his denta. Berthbound or not, he was still second in command of the Decepticon army. He had remote access to the command center which meant he could keep an optic on the fight.   
  
He pulled up the security feeds and patched it through to his holo-display. Yes, it was extraneous equipment, but it proved its use now. He could see the battlefield, could see the DJD and the Decepticons squaring off, could see Grimlock standing against Tarn, larger than Megatron’s pet, but size wasn’t all that mattered.   
  
Grimlock limped; Starscream did not know why. Had Tarn gotten in a lucky shot? Or most likely, someone had been wielding Vos with dangerous accuracy. Energon coursed from mangled plating in Grimlock’s right hip. He did not move as fast as Starscream knew him capable.   
  
The ends of Tarn’s double-fusion cannons glowed a baleful purple.   
  
Starscream gnawed on his bottom lip. His ventilations quickened. He should be there. He should be fighting.   
  
Damn Metalhawk.   
  
Starscream’s free hand closed into a fist. He’d never felt so helpless. All he could do was lay here and watch.   
  


~

  
  
Avoiding the blasts of Tarn’s fusion cannons was not easy. Somehow, Grimlock managed it, though not without singeing his armor.   
  
“You are surprisingly agile for your size,” Tarn said, stalking slowly across the battlefield, his cannonfire keeping Grimlock at bay.   
  
His armor smoked where Tarn had managed to strike a blow. His hip ached from Vos’ first and last landed shot. It was only pain.   
  
“And your bark is worse than your bite,” Grimlock retorted with a growl. His cables twitched, his spark thumping from a surge.   
  
Times like these, he regretted not having a ranged weapon. But then, he’d always been a better fighter with brute force.   
  
Tarn laughed, low and threatening. “You have no idea.” He kept one hand pointed toward Grimlock, the end of his fusion cannon glowing with readiness. The other gestured toward his chestplate, no his intake. “You’ve heard of a certain talent of mine?”   
  
Grimlock drew up short, his tail swishing the ground behind him. Tarn did not fire again, though the threat of him doing so made Grimlock reconsider charging. His armor was thick, sturdy, and he could take a hit. But too many direct strikes of those pseudo-fusion cannons and not even Grimlock was sure he could withstand them.   
  
“I have,” Grimlock said, his engine snarling.   
  
Tarn chuckled and gave a small bow, like a performer before the show. “Then allow me to demonstrate,” he said.   
  
Grimlock braced himself and disengaged his audial receptors, though he knew it was pointless. Tarn’s outlier ability transcended receivers, unerringly doing damage directly to the spark.   
  
He could still track the battle through his comms, through the comments his commanders made in loud bursts across the party line. But all else was silence. The booming of ordinance he felt in his feet. His armor rustled.   
  
He growled at Tarn. Waiting. Waiting.   
  
Nothing.   
  
Tarn’s optics flashed.   
  
Grimlock cut his audial receptors back on just in time to hear Tarn snarl, “What _are_ you?”   
  
It clicked.   
  
Not directly birthed by Vector Sigma or the Allspark, Grimlock and all the other Dinobots had sparks that spun at vastly different frequencies. Maybe, given enough time to experiment, Tarn could parse out the one which would have a devastating effect. But for now, Grimlock was safe.   
  
He grinned toothily, fangs flashing in the light.   
  
“Lord Grimlock,” he said, stalking toward Tarn, his tail swishing behind him as he narrowed his optics at the DJD member. “Rightful leader of the Decepticons. And it looks like your little trick doesn’t work on me.”   
  
Tarn’s field burst outward with all the force of a physical attack, battering against Grimlock’s own but making no headway. “I don’t know what you are,” he said. “But you bleed like any other Cybertronian. I will kill you all the same.”   
  
Grimlock growled, low and bestial, a predator with his optics focused on his prey. “Try it!”   
  
He launched himself forward, dodged the first blast Tarn directed toward him, and leapt at the DJD leader with denta bared.   
  
He hadn’t let Megatron defeat him. Like the Pit he’d let Megatron’s pet do it.   
  


~

  
  
Scourge paced back and forth, his comms tuned in to the updates coming from the command center, courtesy of Krok. The commander on deck did an excellent job of reporting current events without giving way to the fear so thick in his tone, but it was a near thing.   
  
He couldn’t tell if Lord Grimlock and the other fighters were winning or not. It was too close to assume otherwise.   
  
Scourge spun on another heel. His armor itched. His hand ached where he clutched the activation fob. Their last resort could be up and running in a matter of moments. His orders were clear – only if there was no other choice.   
  
If it meant the life of his commander, Scourge was severely tempted to frag his orders and activate them anyway. Why should they risk their sparks when they had three super soldiers sitting in stasis?   
  
Scourge hit a wall, spun, and paced all over again. His spark squeezed into a smaller and smaller ball of indecision and inaction.   
  
“Krok, status update,” he all but snarled into the comm.   
  
“Stand down,” Krok replied, all he’d been saying for the past five minutes. “So far, we are holding our own.”   
  
_So far._   
  
Scourge’s wings jittered. “Let me know if that changes.”   
  
“I will.”   
  
The comm buzzed flat. Standby mode. Just like Scourge himself.   
  
He stalked past a viewing window and peered in at the three offline frames, shackled up against a wall, optics dark, helms drooping. Not even their biolights glowed. Overlord. Black Shadow. Sixshot.   
  
Letting them live had been a mercy apparently. Scourge wasn’t sure he could agree with that statement. Unless they proved to be of use today.   
  
He stared down at the fob in his hand.   
  
Another minute passed.   
  
There was a strut-shaking boom in the distance.   
  
“Krok, status update.”   
  
“Stand down.”   
  
And on it went.   
  


~

  
  
“You take the ugly one,” Brawl said as he pounded his fists together, excitement all but radiating in his energy field.  
  
Slag snarled, his spines bristling. “Which one the ugly one?”   
  
Swoop took the sky above both of them, transforming mid-leap. “You both ugly ones,” he squawked.   
  
Brawl burst into laughter, and it rang over the battlefield, incongruent to the already noisy bursts of blasterfire and frames colliding.   
  
Slag stomped his feet, the ground trembling beneath him. “Fine,” he grumped as the two larger members of the DJD turned toward them, grinder whirring and smelter gurgling. “Then me Slag take the ugly one.”   
  
“Fine by me,” Brawl said as he launched himself at the nearest mech, the one with the X across his faceplate.   
  
Slag grinned toothily at the remaining mech and roared a gout of flame in greeting just as Swoop rained down hellfire from above. The yelps of shock and pain were music to Slag’s audials.   
  
This was going to be fun.   
  


~

  
  
He knew it was a mistake to turn on the screen, but the anxiety gripping his spark could not be swayed otherwise. Knock Out fought the urge to flee as the monitor flashed through various security viewpoints of the battle. Running away would save his own plating, but where would he go?   
  
Lord Grimlock had beaten Megatron. Surely he could take down Megatron’s pet.   
  
The DJD were outnumbered. But given the smoke, torn plating, splattered energon, and flashes of armor, Knock Out couldn’t tell. He didn’t know if they were winning or losing.   
  
No one had been brought to his medbay yet. Whether it was because they hadn’t gone down yet or they couldn’t make it, he didn’t know.   
  
Three against two. Brawl and Slag and Swoop squaring off against the two big ones. They looked pitifully small compared to the two members of the DJD.   
  
Beside Knock Out, Snarl shifted from pede to pede, his armor ruffling. His optics were no less focused on the screen, his ventilations huffing agitated heat.   
  
“You should go. Help them. You don’t have to stay here,” Knock Out said as he folded his arms over his chestplate. A pitiful protection for his spark, they were.   
  
He’d heard what horrors the DJD were capable of. His plating would not withstand the heat of the smelter or the chomp of the restlessly spinning grinder. His armor would scorch under the electricity of the chair. Tarn would sing him into a sweet death. Or a painful one, whichever his preference.   
  
Knock Out shuddered.   
  
Snarl moved closer, his shoulder bumping Knock Out’s. He was warm, his armor buzzing with an undercurrent of charge that zapped Knock Out’s substructure.   
  
“No,” he said. “Me Snarl stay here. Protect you Knock Out. Protect him Starscream.” His optics never left the screen, though his engine growled. “Me Snarl where me need be.”   
  
Knock Out would never admit that he was grateful for it. “Suit yourself,” he said.   
  
Breakdown appeared at his other side, carefully clutching three small cubes of energon, which he then handed over two of them. “It could be over any minute now,” he said with downcast optics and clamped armor. “We should be ready.”   
  
Knock Out accepted the cube. Snarl drank his so quickly he could not have tasted it.   
  
“Thank you,” Knock Out murmured.   
  
Ready to run, or ready to save someone’s guttering spark, Knock Out assumed. He sipped at his cube and forced himself to watch the monitor. Lord Grimlock had just shifted to Dino-mode, his fangs gleaming in the midst of the smoke and ash.   
  
Knock Out said a prayer, though he did not believe in them.   
  


~

  
  
Grimlock wasn’t sure which of them miscalculated first. If he moved too slowly, or if he let his arrogance blind him.   
  
His hip ached. His armor smoked. He’d shifted back to root-mode to better avoid the blasts of that fusion cannon. Tarn was small. Quick. Grimlock’s plating was a testament to the sharpness of Tarn’s claws.   
  
He twisted to avoid Tarn’s onslaught of attacks, rage giving way to patience until Tarn bled nothing but fury and sheer madness. He attacked as though his spark depended on it, and perhaps it did.   
  
He was not unscathed in their battle, but the earlier first strike took its toll. Grimlock was slower, too slow, and another blast from that cannon – Tarn in alt-mode, a tank, doubled his attack effectiveness – drove him back several steps. He stumbled, vents wheezing.   
  
Tarn snapped back to his pedes and advanced.   
  
“You are pathetic,” Tarn snapped, energon dripping over his armor, staining the purple and black paint. He walked with a limp, but seemed to have immeasurable charge to power those cannons of his. “I don’t believe you defeated Lord Megatron.”   
  
Grimlock lashed at Tarn with his energy sword, forcing him back. “If you want, I can show you the smelted pile of slag we call his dead frame,” he taunted.   
  
Tarn’s engine roared, his optics flaring. He fired at Grimlock again, and again, until the barrels of his cannons started to glow.   
  
Grimlock twisted to avoid them, felt the heat of one blast against his backstrut, his frame singing caution and pain. A shot struck the ground near his pedes and hit something, an old piece of ordinance from the war perhaps.   
  
The blast tossed Grimlock backward. His aft hit the ground with a strut-jarring thud. His processor blanked out for half a second, his vision going staticky. His frame tingled and he tried to get to his pedes, managing a half-crouch, his audials ringing. His legs wobbled, his knees even more so.   
  
Footsteps crunched over debris, barely audible over the sound ringing in his audials. Grimlock looked up through wavering vision and static.   
  
“Why won’t you just die?” Tarn snarled, and pointed both of his cannons point-blank at Grimlock’s helm, the ends glowing a fiery crimson.   
  
He might survive the blast. He might not.   
  
Damn.   
  
“No!”   
  
The expected shot never came. Blistering heat whisked by Grimlock’s audials, singeing the outer edge of his armor. A blaster shot slammed into Tarn’s chestplate, knocking him back a step. It was quickly followed by a second, and then a third. Those took out a cannon each before a fourth hit Tarn in the chest again.   
  
Tarn stumbled backward, his armor smoking, sparks erupting from fractured plating and exposed circuits.   
  
Grimlock didn’t think to look where they came from. He shoved to his pedes and threw himself at Tarn, his fist slamming into the other mech’s chestplate. His knuckles crumpled armor where the blastershot had left it cracked and smoking.   
  
Tarn grunted, optics widening behind his mask, and he hit the ground with a strut rattling crash. Grimlock followed him, dropping his full weight down on Tarn.   
  
The DJD commander flailed, tried to swing at Grimlock, but it was easy to dodge. Grimlock’s fist slammed into Tarn’s helm, knocking him into a brief reset, before he flicked his other hand.   
  
His energon sword flared back to life. It dripped plasma to the ground, sizzling where it struck.   
  
“You… were… Autobot,” Tarn gurgled, his voice nothing like the beautiful cadence it had been before.   
  
“If you think that means I’ll spare you, you’re wrong,” Grimlock growled, his hand encircling Tarn’s throat, thumb pressing against the vibrations of Tarn’s vocalizer. “You’d never bow to me.”   
  
Crimson optics flashed behind the Decepticon badge. “Never,” Tarn gritted out, his claws clamping onto the arm Grimlock held at his throat, digging into the cables beneath.   
  
“I know.” Grimlock held the tip of his sword to Tarn’s chestplate, directly over the mech’s spark. The plasma burned against the metal, sending up curls of smoke.   
  
Tarn’s optics dimmed. He might have snarled behind his mask. There was nothing of supplication in his field. It had to be done. The choices a Prime could never make.   
  
Grimlock shoved his sword all the way through Tarn’s chestplate, piercing armor and secondary armor until he breached Tarn’s spark chamber itself. Tarn jerked beneath him, claws digging deep, drawing energon, even as Grimlock’s sword pierced the entirety of Tarn’s chassis, emerging through Tarn’s back and treads.   
  
Tarn’s optics dimmed and then darkened. The claws loosened their deadly hold and fell away, the tips stained with Grimlock’s energon. The heat whisked out of his frame, slowly but surely.   
  
Grimlock released Tarn’s intake and pushed himself upright, jerking his blade free as he did so. He disengaged the plasma blade, tucking it back into the crannies of his frame. He ached from helm to pede, but he lived, he suffered nothing Knock Out could not repair.   
  
He looked down at the smoking, graying chassis of Tarn, and felt pity for the disillusioned mech. Could he have been reformed? Now they’d never know. Grimlock wasn’t Optimus. Sometimes, he had to make the choices for himself.   
  
It was only then that he realized the battlefield had gone silent.   
  
Grimlock lifted his helm, scanning the destruction around him. But it was not his soldiers he saw first, valiantly standing their ground against the fearsome might of the DJD. It was Starscream, standing behind him, his frame yet a patchwork of static bandages and energon dribbling sporadically, no doubt from torn fluid lines.   
  
His wings drooped, but his optics were bright. Fierce. He held a blaster, the end of it still glowing from recent firing.   
  
“You need a keeper,” Starscream said, his voice low, rippled with static. Exhaustion read from every crease in his face, in the clamp of his armor. Even now, he trembled where he stood.   
  
He had never looked more beautiful.   
  
“You’re supposed to be in a berth,” Grimlock said, surprising himself with how nonchalant he managed to speak.   
  
Starscream smirked and tossed the blaster to the ground. It was not his own, Grimlock realized, but probably one Starscream had scooped up along the way from the medbay to here.   
  
“You should be glad I didn’t.” Starscream took a step forward, but he wobbled as he did so, and then opted to stand still. “Now come get me before I fall down.”   
  
Grimlock chuckled. “Yes, Star.”   
  
He hurried to Starscream’s side, but the silence of the battlefield continued to linger. A second glance, this time to his soldiers, told him why.   
  
The blue medic was down, pinned beneath Skywarp’s pede and spitting curses the likes of which Grimlock had never heard. The massive gun they had been carrying lay in pieces, energon soaking the ground around it.   
  
Ah. So it had been Vos. Whether or not he lived was the question..   
  
Cyclonus had his blade at Kaon’s throat, the blind mech on his knees. Cyclonus’ armor was pitted and scorched, more black than purple, and there was a long cut running across his face. It bled liberally, but his grip on Kaon’s shoulder did not falter. Where the Sparkeater had gone, Grimlock did not know.   
  
Helex and Tesaurus fought against Brawl, Slag, and Swoop. But they had stopped fighting and now stared in Tarn’s direction. Whether it was grief or relief in their expression, Grimlock did not know. But the five fighters seemed to have come to some unstated truce. Helex had even been nice enough to put Brawl down from where he’d been trying to feed the tank feet-first into his smelter.   
  
Grimlock hooked an arm around Starscream, helping him remain on his own two pedes, before he turned to address the battlefield.   
  
“Your leader is dead,” Grimlock began, looking at the surviving DJD one by one. “You have a choice. You can surrender to me, or you can meet his fate.”   
  
“Or you could let us go!” the blue medic snarled, their fists pounding the ground where they were pinned beneath Skywarp.   
  
Starscream snorted. “So that you can find some other psychotic leader and come back again? Absolutely not.”   
  
“I am not Optimus Prime,” Grimlock added with an affectionate squeeze to Starscream’s waist. “Neither am I Megatron. This is the only mercy I’ll allow. So if I were you, I’d choose quickly.”   
  
Helex and Tesaurus exchanged glances before they turned toward Grimlock as one and held up their hands, even the secondary smaller sets.   
  
“We surrender,” they said, together, though Tesaurus’ gaze lingered on Tarn’s graying frame.   
  
“Nickel, you might as well,” Kaon said, resignation thick in his tone. “We are no good to anyone offline.”   
  
The blue minibot – Nickel apparently – huffed and went limp beneath Skywarp. “Then back into a cage I go,” they said.   
  
Kaon did not reply to Nickel, lifting his chin instead to ease the pressure of Cyclonus’ blade against his intake. “If you agree to give Vos medical attention, then I will surrender as well.” He lifted a hand, touching the tip of his finger to the hilt of Cyclonus’ blade. “Though understand that I don’t have to.” Electricity sparked from the tip of his finger, dancing over the coils protruding from his back.   
  
Cyclonus did not so much as flinch.   
  
Grimlock inclined his helm. “Fair enough.” He lifted his hand to his comm, contacting Krok in the command center. “Krok, tell everyone to stand down. Tarn is dead, and the rest are in custody. I repeat, give the order to stand down.”   
  
“Sir, yes, sir.”   
  


~

  
  
“Cyclonus!!”   
  
He had only seconds to brace himself before a white and blue blur threw itself at him. Arms wrapped around his waist tightly, the shaking frame pressed against him. Tailgate’s energy field was a maelstrom of emotion that clung to Cyclonus’ own, as sticky as energon goodies.   
  
Cyclonus shouted at his battle protocols to stand down, and ignored the pain radiating through his frame. His shoulders drooped, and he dropped his hands down, returning the embrace that Tailgate offered him. Though he moved slowly, creakily, his internal lines scorched and some cables fried. He’d absorbed one of Kaon’s electrical attacks and felt internally set aflame.   
  
“I am quite all right, little one,” Cyclonus said as one of his hands cradled the back of Tailgate’s helm.  
  
Fisted hands pressed against his backstrut. “I’m sorry. I didn’t go to Nova Cronum,” Tailgate said, his vocals muffled against Cyclonus’ ventrum but sending vibrations through his armor nonetheless.   
  
“I am simply relieved you did not storm the battlefield.” Cyclonus stroked Tailgate’s helm as the minibot’s field battered against his, thick with concern and relief and agitation.   
  
“I should have,” Tailgate said.   
  
Cyclonus, despite himself, chuckled. “I believe you would have,” he murmured, and slipped out of Tailgate’s hold only so far that he could drop to his knees, his hands cradling Tailgate’s helm. “And I am glad that you did not.”   
  
Tailgate lifted a hand, his fingers delicately brushing over the slash marks on Cyclonus’ face. He had long since deactivated the pain sensors behind them, and his repair nanites had worked diligently to stop the bleeding. Energon still crusted around the edges, however, mingling with smoke and ash. He knew he looked quite the fearsome sight.   
  
“You almost died,” Tailgate said, his visor dimming at the realization.   
  
“But I did not.” Cyclonus pressed their forehelms together and cycled a ventilation. He did not care that they had audience.   
  
Once upon a time, it would have bothered him. It would have been a sign of weakness, something to be exploited. But here, with Decepticons led by Grimlock, it was not only welcome, but encouraged.   
  
“I’m glad you won,” Tailgate murmured.   
  
Cyclonus’ field embraced Tailgate’s own, soothing out the rough edges. “So am I.”   
  


~

  
  
It could have gone a lot worse, Grimlock observed.   
  
Of the Decepticon Justice Division, only Tarn and Vos were killed. Attempts were made to save Vos’ spark, but it was too late. He guttered there in the surgery room, with Knock Out and Glit working feverishly to keep him online.   
  
Kaon took the news in silence. He bowed his helm, clasped his hands, looking small and weak without his coils. Helex and Tesaurus, too, were far less fearsome now that they had been disarmed to the best of Grimlock’s medical staff’s ability.   
  
Nickel, the medic from a long-forgotten Cybertronian colony Grimlock would learn, spat and raved at them. She claimed they did not try hard enough. That she could have saved Vos if only she’d been allowed. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she was not.   
  
Grimlock pitied her, but of guilt, there was none.   
  
Tarn had chosen to come to Cybertron. He arrived with intentions to do harm, to slaughter and lay waste to everything Grimlock had built since Megatron’s death. Grimlock had tried the path of peace; Tarn had spat in the face of it.   
  
Grimlock would not feel guilty for what he had to do.   
  
The Sparkeater had slipped its chains and escaped, vanishing into the wilds of Cybertron. Grimlock assembled a team to go after it. He doubted they’d ever find it. All the beast had to do was find one of many entrances to the web of tunnels within Cybertron’s core, and no one would ever see it again.   
  
It could have been a lot worse.   
  
Grimlock had suffered no casualties among his own troops. There were bumps, bruises, cuts, scrapes, damaged limbs and scorched wings. Brawl would walk with a limp for a while, at least until he finished integrating the new pede Knock Out had to construct for him. Cyclonus bore the scrapes on his face as a badge of pride, opting not to get them repaired. It left him with an even fiercer visage.   
  
Given that a small white and blue minibot had leapt into his arms with a tight embrace, Grimlock assumed no one would mind. And while that was an odd pairing if Grimlock had ever seen one, he wished Cyclonus the best with it.   
  
Peace time made for strange berth partners he supposed.   
  
Thundercracker would be berthbound for the better part of a week. Vos, in Nickel’s hands, had taken out both of his thrusters, sending him into a crash-landing of which he survived thanks to Skywarp’s panicked and last-minute use of his warp drive. He was already proving to be quite the irritating patient, and Grimlock did not envy Knock Out for the length of Thundercracker’s tenure.   
  
But he would live. That was what mattered. To Grimlock, who cared for all of his subordinates, and to Skywarp, who had pulled Grimlock aside and explained that Nickel only lived for so long as Thundercracker did. The darkness in his vocals gave no lie to his promise.   
  
Grimlock rested a hand on Skywarp’s shoulder and reminded him, “Vos is dead. Let that be vengeance enough.”   
  
Seeker wings flicked backward, but Skywarp inclined his helm stiffly. “Yes, Lord Grimlock,” he replied and returned to Thundercracker’s berthside.   
  
He might not like it, but Skywarp would obey.   
  
Slag, too, had survived and was already busy regaling anyone who would listen with the story of his bravery and awesomeness – Slag’s words, not Grimlock’s. He and Brawl were never found far from each other, and Grimlock didn’t know if there was something romantic between them, or if they just liked each other’s company.   
  
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. So long as Brawl didn’t mistreat Slag, that was all that mattered to Grimlock.   
  
Swoop was the only one of the warriors who had emerged all but unscathed. He had a few scorchmarks on his plating, and a twisted ankle-strut, but that was the worst of it. He was fully mobile and took advantage of that, traveling from recovery room to recovery room, visiting his brothers, visiting Thundercracker, and visiting Grimlock and Starscream as well.   
  
Starscream was back where he belonged, in the medbay, in a berth. He’d overtaxed his systems pulling that stunt, setting his full recovery back for several weeks month.   
  
“Worth it,” Starscream said, half-wheezing, his ventilations labored. Any worse and Knock Out would have to roll in the manual-ventilator again.   
  
“You could have gotten yourself killed,” Grimlock replied, his hands clasped around one of Starscream’s own. Perhaps his hold was a little too tight. Perhaps not.   
  
Starscream did not complain. “I think you’re just jealous I stole some of your glory,” he drawled with a smirk.   
  
“That must be it,” Grimlock agreed.   
  
His own armor was still charred and pitted. He, too, would walk with a limp until someone looked at his hip. But he was mobile, and had the good sense to plug in a few pain patches. He would keep until everyone else had been seen to.   
  
“Not that I’m ungrateful,” Grimlock added, his thumbs stroking over Starscream’s palm. “Thank you.”   
  
Starscream’s engine purred. “I’m told that a partnership implies an equal amount of give and take,” he said. “You save my life; I save yours.”   
  
Grimlock’s spark throbbed. “Am I allowed to believe that means you love me?”   
  
“You’re allowed to think whatever you want.” Starscream’s shrug was far from dismissive. “But I’m an honorable Seeker, my lord. You’ll have to wait until the end of this courtship to find out.”   
  
The end? Grimlock barked a laugh. With all that had happened as of late, he hadn’t even begun to woo Starscream. All he’d managed to do was display his prowess in the berth.   
  
“Very well.” Grimlock pressed his mouthplate to Starscream’s knuckles and allowed his field free, to mingle with the edges of Starscream’s own. “I’ll consider it a challenge then.”   
  
Starscream settled back into the medberth comfortably. “I’m sure you’ll win just like all the others you’ve set for yourself.”   
  
“I’m glad to have your confidence,” Grimlock murmured, his spark so warm as to be consuming.   
  
Commotion in the hallway stole Grimlock’s attention. He abruptly straightened, helm swinging toward the open door where he’d been keeping one audial on all the medic chatter. He knew Knock Out would give him a full report, but he still liked listening to the babble.   
  
“Do you want my help or not?” A voice demanded, both annoyed and cranky.   
  
Grimlock knew that voice. He resisted the urge to laugh aloud.   
  
“Your creator is a force to be reckoned with,” Starscream said.   
  
Grimlock untangled his fingers from Starscream’s and forced himself to stand. “More than you’ll ever know,” he replied and made his way to the door, wondering if he would need to break up a fight between Knock Out and Ratchet.   
  
The two got along. Barely. But Grimlock hadn’t extended a direct invitation to Ratchet and informed Knock Out ahead of time, so the Decepticon CMO was probably getting his plating in a twist over the unexpected arrival.   
  
Grimlock stood in the doorway and peered down the hallway. Ratchet and Knock Out were indeed squaring off, and just past Ratchet’s shoulder, Grimlock could see Wheeljack’s flashing indicators. So Ratchet hadn’t come alone this time.   
  
“I don’t need your help,” Knock Out said, his tone tight, but his armor rippling with irritation. He had his hands planted on his hips, his tires spinning aggressively.   
  
Ratchet, for his part, had his arms folded over his windshield, giving Knock Out a look that even Sideswipe had learned to obey. “You’d prefer to be short-handed then?”   
  
“I have all the hands I need!” Knock Out snapped. “So why don’t you trot your over-sized aft back to Polyhex and stay out of my medbay for once!”  
  
Wheeljack leaned around Ratchet, and even from this distance, Grimlock could sense the calm he projected in his field. “Hey, now. We ain’t here to take over or anythin’, kid. We just wanna help since the Cons did all the hard work. Yeah?”   
  
Knock Out’s engine revved.   
  
Grimlock stepped into the hallway before any energon could be shed. “For the most part, our injuries were minor. Though we appreciate the offer of assistance.”   
  
Wheeljack saw him first, his indicators lighting up with a bright ripple of delight. “Grimlock!” he said, and waved, though he played it smart by not immediately pelting down the hall and passing Knock Out along the way. “Optimus didn’t send us, just so you know. Ratchet stormed over here all on his own.”   
  
“I did not!” Ratchet hissed through clenched denta.   
  
“Did so,” Wheeljack replied, full of smug humor. “I’ll make him leave if you don’t need us though.”   
  
“We don’t!” Knock Out all but snarled, his armor fluffing even further away from his protoform. Even his shoulder tires twitched.   
  
Grimlock waved a dismissing hand. “You don’t have to leave. If Knock Out has matters under control, then you can make this a visit. Snarl’s been moping again.”   
  
“Have not!” Floated down the hallway from around the corner where Snarl had been working out of sight on repairing Thundercracker’s thrusters. Or, barring that, refurbishing some spare parts from storage.   
  
“I do not need any help,” Knock Out repeated, his tone as tight as a wound spring. “And this is my medbay.”   
  
Wheeljack held up his hands and nudged Ratchet with a shoulder. “Then we’re not here. Promise.” He winked an optic and then slid past Knock Out, heading for Grimlock instead. “Come on, Ratch. The kid’s got it.”   
  
“I’m not a kid,” Knock Out snapped.   
  
Ratchet lingered for the span of a few more seconds, giving Knock Out a long look. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”   
  
“I won’t.” Knock Out stalked past Ratchet, heading back into the central medbay. He took his agitated energy field with him.   
  
Ratchet unfolded his arms and rolled his optics. “Sparklings these days,” he muttered as he started down the hall to join Wheeljack.   
  
“Technically, Knock Out was within his rights to throw you out on your aft,” Grimlock said, amused. Wheeljack chose that moment to throw his arms around Grimlock in an attempt at an embrace, which Grimlock returned. “Nice to see you, too.”   
  
Ratchet grumbled. “You all got lucky,” he said as his gaze flicked over Grimlock from helm to pede. “And you need medical attention.”   
  
Grimlock shrugged. “I could wait. Others couldn’t.”   
  
“Why does that sound familiar?” Ratchet said sourly, his optics filling with shadows. He folded his arms again, at once looking smaller and less imposing.   
  
\--Let Ratchet fix you up,-- Wheeljack said in a quick, narrow-band comm. --He’s been antsy all day since we went on high alert, and he doesn’t have anywhere to put that energy.--  
  
Ah. So that explained it.   
  
Grimlock gave Wheeljack a squeeze. “Though if you want to take a look at it, I won’t object.”   
  
Ratchet’s gaze shifted from Wheeljack to Grimlock and back again. “All right, kid. Find me a room.”   
  
Grimlock tilted his helm toward Starscream’s private recovery room. “Might as well use this one.” He slipped out of Wheeljack’s hold and preceded them inside.   
  
Starscream was still online, his lips curved with a subtle amusement. No doubt he’d been eavesdropping. Not that it was difficult. Knock Out and Ratchet both were _loud_.   
  
“Oh, look,” Starscream purred in a tone Grimlock had come to recognize as incendiary at best. “It’s the In-Laws.”   
  
Wheeljack laughed, his indicators flashing brightly at them. “Glad you’re looking well, Starscream. Thanks for saving our idiot’s life out there.”   
  
Starscream’s smirk widened. “Yes, well, I didn’t want to have to take time to train another one,” he drawled.   
  
Ratchet snorted. “That’s more information than we wanted to know. Thanks. Grimlock, sit in that chair next to your Intended.”   
  
Grimlock obeyed because yes, he could wait, but also, he was in some discomfort. He was quite eager to have that eased, and Ratchet understood the complexities of his system design better than Knock Out did. Then again, Ratchet had a hand in designing Grimlock’s frame. That came with the territory.   
  
“You’re welcome,” Starscream said. He kept his gaze focused on the two Autobots. It wasn’t quite suspicion, but it wasn’t relaxed comfort either. Grimlock took no small amount of pride in the fact his proximity seemed to calm Starscream.   
  
Wheeljack pulled out a stool as Ratchet circled around Grimlock, cataloging injuries and poking at them when a visual estimate wasn’t enough.   
  
“So,” Wheeljack said, making himself comfortable. “What’s new?”   
  
Starscream’s lip curled with a smirk. Ratchet muttered something subvocally. Grimlock chuckled.   
  
This part, at least, would to be fun.  
  
****


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Splendid,” Really Slow Motion ft Carie Van Heden

Starscream hovered between elation and despair, and frankly, couldn’t decide which of the two he preferred.  
  
Knock Out had _finally_ agreed that Starscream could be released from the medbay, albeit with a terrifying list of restrictions. Starscream hadn’t cared that he was only allowed to lay in his berth or sit on his couch and he couldn’t even do paperwork. He was too pleased to no longer be caged in the medbay.  
  
The downside was when it came time for his release. Grimlock could not be present, as his frequent absences prior to the DJD’s arrival meant he had many, many shifts to cover and would for quite some time. Thundercracker was still in a medberth of his own, with Skywarp all but waiting on him hand and pede.  
  
This left the Dinobots.  
  
The Dinobots and Ratchet and Wheeljack.  
  
Starscream was surrounded by Autobots, and he didn’t like it one bit. Not even if Ratchet had been the one to finally convince Knock Out to release Starscream.  
  
It was tempting to turn down the release and stay in his medberth. So very tempting. If he went back to his apartment, he would technically be transferred to Ratchet’s supervision. He would have to obey, for lack of a better word, Ratchet’s advice regarding his health.  
  
Decisions, decisions.  
  
In the end, some freedom was better than none at all.  
  
“Be careful,” Starscream huffed as Ratchet nearly dropped him. “I don’t want to end up back in the medbay.”  
  
“Yes, your majesty,” Ratchet retorted with a roll of his optics. He adjusted his grip on Starscream, carrying him with an arm braced under Starscream’s knees and upper back. “However might I plant thine royal aft?”  
  
Starscream gestured to the main room. “On the futon is fine. I don’t want to be trapped in a berth with so many Autobots in my suite.”  
  
“You know, you’re practically dating an Autobot,” Wheeljack pointed out ever so helpfully. One would think he’d be better at crisis intervention, given his mate, but no. He was as much instigator as he was peace-maker.  
  
“Grimlock is a Decepticon,” Starscream informed him in a tone that was slightly less than scathing.  
  
“Whatever helps you recharge at night, kid,” Ratchet said and promptly dumped him on the couch.  
  
‘Dump’ was perhaps a strong word, but it felt appropriate given the way Starscream’s aft bounced on the cushions. It hadn’t jarred any of his repairs, but it did leave his processor spinning.  
  
“You have a terrible berthside manner, doctor,” Starscream muttered.  
  
“That’s because you are a terrible patient,” Ratchet retorted.  
  
Swoop bounced into view, carefully carrying a cube of flyer-grade energon spiced with Starscream’s favorite additive.  
  
That was why Swoop was Starscream’s favorite.  
  
“Ignore him Starscream,” Snarl insisted as he snagged Wheeljack’s arm, attempting to tug him toward the doorway and into the refueling room. “Me Snarl want tell you Wheejack about things me Snarl fixed.”  
  
Wheeljack chuckled and let himself be dragged. “Is that so? Then I want to hear all about it. I knew one of you had to get my tinkering.”  
  
Snarl’s faceplate all but glowed. “Me Snarl work in medbay with him Knock Out,” he said as Wheeljack went along with him gamely.  
  
“Knock Out, hm?” Wheeljack repeated and paused in the doorway, tossing a look over his shoulder at Ratchet. “That wouldn’t happen to be the very shiny, very pretty, and very bright red medic, would it?”  
  
“You forgot arrogant and irritating,” Ratchet muttered as a scan washed over Starscream, prickling his exterior sensors with the force of it.  
  
Slag stomped after the exiting engineer and his brother. “You no hog him Wheeljack! Me Slag want turn, too!”  
  
There was a rather large yelp, followed by a laugh, which Starscream could only assume meant Wheeljack had been treated to an obscenely strong hug. Sometimes, the Dinobots forgot their own strength. Grimlock was exceedingly careful of his, often to the point of irritating Starscream. Though he appreciated it as well.  
  
There was something incredibly charming in the care Grimlock extended toward him. It never failed to warm Starscream’s spark and make him feel genuinely cherished. Though he would never admit that aloud.  
  
“You’re healing nicely, Starscream. Another few days or so and you should be able to return to light duty, at least,” Ratchet said as his internal scanners beeped aloud and the ticklish sensation of his scans vanished.  
  
Starscream ex-vented lightly. “That’s a relief. All of this inaction is worse than the injury itself.”  
  
“Grimlock might argue otherwise,” Ratchet said, his lips curved. “He was very worried about you.”  
  
Starscream squirmed on the futon and focused on consuming the energon Swoop had brought for him. “Metalhawk is to blame for that. Or so I hear.”  
  
“That and many other things. Fortunately, I am told that Optimus and Ultra Magnus have been devising a plan.” Ratchet’s joints audibly creaked as he lowered himself to the opposite end of the futon from Starscream.  
  
In the other room, Snarl and Slag chattered at Wheeljack, though it was too much babble for Starscream to make out the words. He picked out a few names – Brawl, Breakdown, and Knock Out. The Dinobots were quickly making themselves at home and friends in New Iacon.  
  
“Optimus is still too soft,” Starscream commented as he leaned back into the soft embrace of the futon. “Nothing will cure Metalhawk’s mindset save a blaster shot to the spark.”  
  
Ratchet made a non-committal noise. “Surely you understand the political ramifications.”  
  
“Spare me.” Starscream dragged a hand across his forehelm. “I know them. That doesn’t mean I like them.”  
  
“Then it’s a good thing you are not the only one making the decision for the Decepticons, else you’d have us back at war.” Ratchet huffed at him, only to cycle a ventilation and lean back. “Speaking of, how is it going with you and Grimlock?”  
  
Starscream side-opticked him. “I am not discussing my romantic life with you, especially since you consider yourself his creator.” It came out more snappy than he intended, but damn it, was a little peace and quiet too much to ask for?  
  
“Fair enough,” Ratchet said, and shifted gears. “What about you, Swoop? How have you been? Any luck with that mech you had your optic on?”  
  
Swoop grinned, his field peppering the room with bright bursts of delight. “Me Swoop very lucky. Caught two mechs.”  
  
“Oh? Is that so?” Ratchet’s grin was soft and affectionate and to Starscream, eerie for its gentleness. “Are you still playing mysterious with their identity?”  
  
Swoop chortled, his wing plates shuffling. “Him Skywarp and him Thundercracker shy,” he said. “Especially him Thundercracker.”  
  
“Wait.” Starscream jerked upright so fast that his back cables screeched in protest. “Did you say my trinemates?” He’d thought that was a fling. A flirtation Thundercracker and Skywarp were both meant to ignore. He’d _thought_ they’d taken care of it.  
  
Ratchet outright laughed.  
  
Swoop had the audacity to look smug. “Me Swoop close with him Sky and him Thunder.” His optics darkened as his armor ruffled again. “Very close.”  
  
Close. Very close. Starscream wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that at _all_.  
  
Starscream’s optics rounded, his engine revving, his vocals approaching the near-shriek that had earned him far too many unflattering nicknames. “ _What_?”  
  


~

  
  
Boredom set in far too quickly.  
  
Grimlock started to pace, long loops around the command center, a slow and steady gait that may have unnerved his subordinates as they kept giving him offhand looks. After so many weeks of tension and high alert, stillness was more off-putting than stress.  
  
More than that, however, was that he didn’t want to be here at the moment. He wanted to be with Starscream. His Intended was getting released from the medbay today, and Grimlock knew he would need assistance. Yes, his creators would be there, and his brothers, too. But it wasn’t the same.  
  
Plus, he had to admit, he honestly didn’t know which was going to murder the other first: Ratchet or Starscream. They butted helms and spat fire at each other on an hourly basis. Poor Wheeljack had given up trying to be the peacemaker and just left them to it. Swoop found it hilarious.  
  
Privately, Grimlock did as well. He tried not to take sides. How could he? Ratchet was his creator, and Starscream was his Intended. It wasn’t as though they argued over something serious. It was mostly snark-filled banter. He half-expected Starscream was even having fun.  
  
Which meant all of the entertainment was currently in Starscream’s quarters, and none of it was here in the command center.  
  
All was quiet in New Iacon. Not even the prisoners caused a racket, which surprised Grimlock.  
  
He would have expected the surviving members of the Decepticon Justice Division to make more of a fuss, especially the mouthy minibot. Nickel, however, had gone silent the moment she was placed in her cell. She drank the energon she was offered, but she hadn’t spoken since being put behind bars. Not even when Glit had informed them all, with genuine regret, that despite their best efforts, Vos had not survived.  
  
Kaon had been the only one to speak, sitting ramrod straight on his bunk, his hands on his knees. His empty optical sockets had unerringly focused on the bars, strangely, and at Glit himself.  
  
“No ceremony,” he answered when Glit asked if they had anything specific in mind for both Vos and Tarn.  
  
“Are you certain?”  
  
“No ceremony,” Kaon repeated, quieter this time.  
  
It had given Glit the chills, enough so he’d come straight to Grimlock afterward. There wasn’t much that ruffled the feline medic. He’d had to put up with a lot of slag over the millennia for his size, his frame, his choice of occupations. There was very little that ruffled him.  
  
And yet, he’d requested that Knock Out tend to the wishes of the DJD from henceforth.  
  
For now, Grimlock had both Tarn’s and Vos’ frames set aside, access restricted only to the medical team and members of high command. If Kaon and the others ever changed their mind, the option would be there. Grimlock might have had no love for the DJD, but he would respect their dead.  
  
It was one of many things that separated him from Megatron.  
  
The surviving members had made no demands. Helex and Tesaurus often talked to each other, usually about nonsensical things. Cyclonus had idly hypothesized that perhaps it was a code of some sort, but he didn’t know how to begin deciphering it. So they let the two large mechs be.  
  
Kaon seemed to be the voice for the DJD in Tarn’s absence. He made a request to speak with Grimlock regarding the future. The datapad currently sat on Grimlock’s desk, waiting his attention. He had yet to decide how he wished to handle them, and wanted a clearer idea before he presented it to his command team.  
  
They weren’t being harmed in the brig, and were treated fairly. They could wait a while yet. Just like all the other mechs Grimlock had in his brig.  
  
The Peaceful Tyranny had been confiscated, and Cyclonus assigned a team to scour the ship for useful supplies. They’d sent the closest thing they had to Spec Ops along with the team, something that proved to be wise as there had been more than a few security measures to override.  
  
Said team had also discovered what amounted to a trophy room. Bits and pieces of every mech the DJD had ever disciplined, all partnered with a plaque that boldly stated their “offense”. It was disturbing and chilling and made Grimlock even less inclined to free the DJD members still living.  
  
Like maker, like pet, Grimlock supposed. Megatron had kept his own trophies as well. He must have taught Tarn to do the same.  
  
Grimlock ordered the “trophies” be collected and given a proper burial. The names were recorded and added to an ever-growing census of those lost to the war. It was something he hoped to eventually do in conjunction with the Autobots and the Neutrals. They might not remember every mech who was killed, but they could try.  
  
It was important. To recover. To learn from their mistakes. To make Cybertron better than it ever was. They couldn’t linger in the past, but neither could they forget it either.  
  
That was something Grimlock had actually learned from watching the humans.  
  
His comm beeped, a private line, but also a business line. Only a few mechs had this frequency.  
  
“What can I do for you, Optimus?” Grimlock answered as he ceased his unending circuit around the command center on the deck.  
  
“First of all, let me congratulate you on your swift victory over the Decepticon Justice Division,” his old commander stated, and for once, he sounded much less worn down and beaten. Apparently, Soundwave was giving him very good care.  
  
Grimlock scoffed across the line. “You don’t have to bother with pleasantries, Optimus. I know where we both stand. What do you need?” He slipped into a ready stance, his hands clasped behind his back.  
  
To any onlooker, he was deep in thought, and not deep in a private conversation with the leader of the Autobots. His Decepticons could not know how friendly he was with Optimus. Otherwise they might think him too soft, or he faced manipulation from his former leader.  
  
Optimus loosed a slow, rolling chuckle across the comm. “Very well. I wish to make a move on Metalhawk very soon. Ultra Magnus has discovered a way for us to go after him legally. In order to give it full weight, however, I need your signature of approval.”  
  
“Mmm.” Grimlock really did not have to think about it. He’d been saving the issue of Metalhawk until after the DJD were dealt with. All the better to leave it in Optimus’ hands.  
  
He liked political sparring far more than Grimlock did.  
  
“You have it,” Grimlock said, shifting to cross his arms over his chestplate. “Transmit the files my way, and I’ll stamp them with my glyph. Will you need Starscream’s as well?”  
  
“No. Yours is enough. Thank you, Grimlock.”  
  
Had he a mouth, he would have grinned. “Let Metalhawk know I owe him one, only not in so many words. I know he’s responsible for what Acid Storm did to Starscream.”  
  
Optimus transmitted a non-committal noise. “Unfortunately, the political balances are too unstable right now for that particular brand of justice. We must abide by the law of the treaty.”  
  
Except that the law of the treaty did give room for a demand of personal redress in the case of a personal attack. Grimlock, however, would wait until later to remind Optimus of it. He didn’t want the Prime having second thoughts about going after Methalhawk now.  
  
“So you say,” Grimlock demurred. “By the way, Ratchet and Wheeljack are here.”  
  
Optimus’ tone turned amused. “Yes, I am aware. Should anyone ask, they are on personal leave and are therefore free to wander wherever they please. Though I doubt one will find them in Nova Cronum.”  
  
“Starscream may send you a scathing message later,” Grimlock said, resisting the urge to chuckle aloud, and carefully reining in his energy field. “He and Ratchet are having something of a battle.”  
  
This time, Optimus barked a laugh, sounding genuinely amused. “I am sorry that I am missing it.” He paused, the line going silent, until he continued with, “But I’ll not keep you. I wish you and yours a speedy recovery, and if there is anything you need of us, do not hesitate to drop me a line.”  
  
“I will keep that in mind.”  
  
The line clicked off, leaving Grimlock to his thoughts. He gave a pointed look around, but none of his subordinates paid him any attention. Nor was there any threat to be found on any of the monitors.  
  
He eyed his chronometer. Only half a double-shift left to go before he could return to Starscream’s apartment and check on his Intended and hope that neither Starscream nor Ratchet had killed one another.  
  
It couldn’t come fast enough.  
  


~

  
  
Cyclonus had one last meeting before he could call it a day and return to his habsuite. He wasn’t exhausted, not as much as he had been during the days spent covering for Lord Grimlock, but he had gotten used to rest and recovery. It was all too easy to fall into the lull of pseudo-peace, and now he craved that quiet.  
  
“Sir!” Scourge’s salute was a lot less rigid than it used to be. There was a time Cyclonus would have given him a mild rebuke for that.  
  
Now, he barely noticed it. He considered it a sign, proof that his second was not only learning to enjoy this new peace, but fully indulge in it. Cyclonus dared dream that at some point in the future, he may not even have to be a soldier. He didn’t know what else he could be, because war was all he knew even before there was a war.  
  
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t explore his options and try.  
  
“Let’s make this brief, shall we? I’m sure you are as eager to be off-shift as I am,” Cyclonus said as they stepped into Cyclonus’ office.  
  
“Though I suspect it is for different reasons, sir,” Scourge said with a sidelong look Cyclonus’ direction.  
  
He ignored the implication, and sat behind his desk, purposefully ignoring the small stack of datapads on the corner. They were not so urgent they could not wait until the next shift.  
  
“Before we get started, I want to thank you for your level-headedness during the most recent threat,” Cyclonus said, his tone far serious than he meant it to be given the levity they had just shared. “Your patience and trust ensured we did not needlessly release a power we may not be able to fully control.”  
  
Scourge shifted in his chair, and by all accounts, looked both pleased and flattered. “Thank you, sir. I had a good teacher.”  
  
Cyclonus chuckled, despite himself. “Yes, I’m sure you did,” he said, amused. “Do you have some reports for me then?”  
  
“Unfortunately, yes.” Scourge’s disposition soured as he set a datapad on the desk and pushed it toward Cyclonus. “It is ironic that those who wail the loudest about their rights and how much they deserve freedom, were those all too willing to take them from others.”  
  
Cyclonus made a noncommittal sound of agreement and thumbed the datapad on. It contained a list of every current prisoner who had officially requested an examination of their incarceration and petitioned for parole or release. For most of them, it would be a long time before they saw anything like freedom.  
  
Cyclonus did not trust Barricade any further than he could throw the mech. Barricade was smart, manipulative, and charming. More than that, he’d been in Spec Ops throughout the entirety of the war and could act like the best of them. He claimed he was willing to support Grimlock’s leadership, but Cyclonus did not believe him.  
  
No one currently in Decepticon Command was foolish enough to do so.  
  
Cyclonus only regretted that they currently had no one capable of seeing through Barricade’s deceptions. Unless, of course, they borrowed Soundwave and requested he take a peek at Barricade’s true intentions. That, however, was a last resort and would only be requested if necessary.  
  
Prisoner Barricade might be, one who had done heinous things without a smidgen of regret even, but yes. He did have some rights. Just not as many as he thought he did.  
  
Yet, he never stopped ranting about how his rights were being ‘trampled.’  
  
Scourge had scribbled a comment in his observation notes. “Who does he think we are, Autobots?”  
  
Cyclonus snickered quietly to himself. Scourge had a point. Under Megatron’s leadership, Barricade would have never seen a cell. Imprisoning those who insulted him wasn’t Megatron’s style. He preferred to dole out punishment with his fists. Grimlock, however, had seemed to mix and match his own rules.  
  
He had carried some of his Autobot ways with him, but mingled them well with Decepticon matters as well. Freedom was a right, yes, he agreed. But not if he couldn’t guarantee that Barricade wouldn’t harm others. So in prison Barricade would stay. For now.  
  
There were others. The two remaining Stunticons, for example.  
  
Dragstrip’s behavior had been on the lower end of ‘good’ ever since Breakdown was released. Less than good was startlingly decent considering the behavior of his other brother. Cyclonus suspected that he’d been closest to Breakdown of all of his siblings and perhaps attempted to behave in order to facilitate his release for that purpose.  
  
Motormaster, however, seemed to have grown only more belligerent. Perhaps more time would calm him. Though Cyclonus suspected, given what he’d learned of their origins, he might need medical attention as well. They were so very young. Was it any surprise Megatron had wooed them and bent them to his will so easily?  
  
Cyclonus had high hopes that someday, Scourge would be in charge of an empty brig. Or perhaps that was too optimistic. After all, the DJD were here.  
  
So was Shockwave.  
  
He was the only one, of all the current inmates, who submitted a petition every day. It was unfailingly polite and reasoned, but that didn’t make it any less aggravating. Shockwave continued to believe he had done nothing wrong; he did not understand the reasoning behind his incarceration. He had no problems serving under Lord Grimlock’s command. All he wished to do was continue his research.  
  
Intelligence didn’t necessarily make someone smart, Cyclonus thought with a sigh. For it was, in part, Shockwave’s research that Grimlock found abhorrent. Or at least the methods by which Shockwave chose to enact his research. Given what Shockwave had done to Grimlock’s brother, the scientist should consider himself lucky he hadn’t been executed.  
  
However, a promise had been made. To save Starscream’s spark, Shockwave was owed leniency. His latest petition had been a demand for a private meeting with Lord Grimlock to discuss the terms of their agreement.  
  
As much as Cyclonus did not like Shockwave, the deal had been struck. He would pass this request onto Lord Grimlock.  
  
“So nothing new then,” Cyclonus observed as he made a few notes himself, composed a quick report to Lord Grimlock, and then powered down the datapad.  
  
Scourge shook his helm. “Not yet. I’m half-surprised that we haven’t had an attempted break yet.”  
  
“Mmm. You may have a point. Do you think there is a need for increased guard?” There were a few mechs Cyclonus could reassign, especially since they were now imprisoning three-fifths of the DJD.  
  
Scourge tapped his chin. “Another guard couldn’t hurt. A show of force, perhaps, to convince them they are better off not trying.”  
  
“Done.” Cyclonus made a note to himself. It would be the first thing he arranged when he came back on-shift. “Anything else?”  
  
“No. You’re free to go.” Scourge’s lips curved with amusement. “As I’m sure you’ve been eager to do for the past ten minutes.”  
  
Cyclonus cycled his vocalizer. “I don’t know what you mean.” He pushed to his pedes and pretended he did not feel the glimmer of excitement in his spark.  
  
“Of course you don’t. I’m sure it has nothing to do with your cute minibot friend,” Scourge said, ever professional, ever stoic.  
  
Cyclonus gave him a long look before he let a small smile tug at his lips. “It has everything to do with him,” he said as he gestured Scourge ahead of him, indicating his second could step out of the office.  
  
Scourge cycled his optics and stared at Cyclonus as though he had never seen him before. “Well,” he said after a long moment. “I’m happy to hear it, sir.”  
  
Cyclonus pulled the door shut behind him, the lock engaging with a quick click. “It is unexpected,” he said. “But very welcome.”  
  
“You deserve it.”  
  
Warmth flooded Cyclonus’ spark. “I thank you for saying so.” He dipped his helm in a nod. “Good shift, Scourge. Comm me if you need me.”  
  
“And interrupt? No, thank you.”  
  
Cyclonus chuckled. “If you insist.”  
  
He left his second behind, Scourge staring thoughtfully after him. Cyclonus was well-aware of how odd his friendship with Tailgate appeared, and no one had been more surprised than himself when it blossomed beyond casual acquaintances. He was grateful for it, however, and would continue to be so.  
  
It finally felt like moving on, learning to embrace peace, and while Cyclonus had been a soldier all his life, he was beginning to think that civilian life was not so bad after all.  
  


~

  
  
The relentless ping stirred Skywarp from his doze, forcing him to sit up and rub at his optics. It was annoying, and Skywarp was half-attempted to ignore the ping, save that it was coming from Starscream.  
  
It was never wise to ignore Starscream.  
  
“What is it?” Thundercracker asked, lowering his datapad and peering at Skywarp.  
  
He sat up and leaned back, stretching his arms over his helm. His lower back cables were in knots. He should have recharged in a berth, but he’d thought a little nap here in the medbay wouldn’t hurt.  
  
He’d been wrong. Ow.  
  
“It’s Star.” Skywarp tapped his comm pointedly. “He’s not pinging you?”  
  
Thundercracker tilted his helm and then shook it. “No. Perhaps he thinks I am in recharge.”  
  
Skywarp laughed. “Because you should be.” He poked Thundercracker in the knee to prove his point. “We need you back on your pedes sooner rather than later.”  
  
“There’s no rush,” Thundercracker said with a shrug before turning his attention back to his datapad and the collection of ancient theatrical plays he’d found fascinating as of late. “What does Star want?”  
  
Oh, right. The persistent pinging/nagging at his comms. He’d almost gotten used to it, to the point of ignoring it.  
  
Skywarp tapped his comm, activating it. “Hey, Star. What do you--”  
  
“I need to speak with you and Thundercracker,” his trine leader and Air Commander said in an imperious tone, without giving Skywarp the chance to finish greeting him. “Immediately.”  
  
Skywarp blinked his optical shutters. “Thundercracker is still confined to the berth. Damaged thrusters, remember?”  
  
“He is mobile. I asked,” Starscream retorted crisply. “This can’t wait, and I refuse to have this discussion with you two over a comm line.”  
  
Discussion.  
  
Skywarp glanced at Thundercracker, but his partner wasn’t paying him a bit of attention. “What’s this about?” Skywarp asked.  
  
“You’ll find out when you get here.” With an imperious click, the line went silent.  
  
Hmmm. Skywarp dropped his hand from his comm and ex-vented noisily. “Well, that happened,” he said.  
  
Thundercracker lowered his datapad again. “What did Starscream want?”  
  
“To talk to us. Now. It can’t wait.” Skywarp rose to his pedes, rolling his helm to ease the crick in his neck cables. “He sounded serious.”  
  
“Starscream is always serious,” Thundercracker replied. He powered down his datapad, and it vanished into his subspace pocket. “Let’s go then.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Skywarp looked pointedly at Thundercracker’s thrusters, which were disengaged as they continued to heal.  
  
“I can walk,” Thundercracker said wryly. “I just can’t fly or transform.”  
  
“Walking sucks.” Skywarp grinned and offered his wingmate a hand. “Wanna bet that he’s just having a conniption being surrounded by so many Autobots?”  
  
Thundercracker snickered and eased off the berth. “I don’t think the Dinobots count as Autobots anymore.”  
  
“I suppose that depends on your point of view.” Skywarp laughed.  
  
He tried not to worry. Starscream hadn’t used that tone on them in quite a while. Not since they’d stopped pseudo-hating each other, and actually learned what it meant to be trinemates again. Starscream hadn’t sounded worried, but he’d definitely been upset about something.  
  
“He didn’t give you any clue what the problem was?” Thundercracker asked as they left the medroom and snuck out the back, before Breakdown could see them.  
  
They’d be back soon enough. Or maybe they wouldn’t. If Thundercracker could walk around, then he could recover well enough in their own quarters. Preferably with Swoop snuggled around them.  
  
Yes, that sounded perfect to Skywarp. His two favorite mechs in the same berth with him, all warm and cuddly. Swoop put off a lot of heat, and his energy field was so soothing. Then it would be ten times better with Thundercracker willing to snuggle, too.  
  
“Warp?”  
  
He blinked out of his thoughts and peered at Thundercracker, whose lips were curled with amusement. “Hmm?”  
  
“I asked you a question.” Thundercracker bumped their shoulders. “You were off in a daydream though.”  
  
“Oh.” Skywarp scratched his nasal ridge. “It, uh, wasn’t important.” His cheeks heated, and his gaze slid away. “What did you ask?”  
  
Thundercracker shook his helm. “Did Starscream give any clue what the big emergency was?”  
  
“No. You know how he is.” Skywarp shrugged. “You doing okay?”  
  
Thundercracker’s field was calm, as it usually was, but there was an edge of discomfort surrounded it. “I’ll survive. I’ve dealt with worse.”  
  
“Yeah, but we’re not in war anymore. You shouldn’t have to.” Skywarp huffed, his wings twitching. “This better be important.”  
  
Thundercracker bumped shoulders with him again, something like indulgence in his expression. “I’m sure it is.”  
  
And well, as it turned out, Thundercracker was only half-right. When they arrived at Starscream’s habsuite, Wheeljack opened the door for them and let them inside. There was little space to be had, what with four Dinobots, two Autobots, and Starscream sitting upon the main futon like a lounging king upon a throne – all crowded into the main receiving room.  
  
Starscream had his arms folded over his cockpit, his narrowed optics focused on the doorway so they found Skywarp and Thundercracker the minute they appeared. But even more unsettling was that Ratchet sat next to him, his face a perfect mask, and somehow, that was more worrisome.  
  
“I didn’t do it,” Skywarp said, immediately hanging behind Thundercracker’s right shoulder. They wouldn’t hurt an invalid, right? “Whatever it was.”  
  
Ratchet snorted.  
  
Starscream’s stare intensified. “Oh, yes you most certainly did,” he said, and his gaze slid ever so slowly to the right, where Swoop was perched on a stool, a wide grin on his face.  
  
Oh.  
  
_Oh._  
  
Thundercracker folded his arms and cocked a hip as Wheeljack blocked the door behind them. Or well, tried to at any rate. He was currently the smallest person in the room, but if it bothered him, it didn’t show.  
  
Skywarp decided the safest place was still behind Thundercracker. “To be fair,” he said. “Swoop started it.”  
  
Swoop squawked a laugh. “Is true. Me Swoop did start it.”  
  
“I don’t care who is to blame,” Ratchet said, he and Starscream presenting an oddly united front. “I just want to know that it’s not a game and what your intentions are.”  
  
“ _Especially_ ,” Starscream added in that haughty tone which always made Skywarp cringe, “Since I seem to recall telling you not to pursue him as a romantic partner.”  
  
“Yeah,” Slag said, and Snarl echoed him.  
  
“You treat him Swoop good!” Slag said with a shake of his fist, ex-venting smoky air from his nasal ridge.  
  
“Him Swoop the best,” Snarl added, nodding his helm. He gave the winged Dinobot a big smile. “You no hurt him Swoop.”  
  
“He is not a sparkling,” Thundercracker said, his wings giving a nearly aggressive flick. “He should be able to decide for himself who he does and does not want to see.”  
  
Skywarp peered around Thundercracker’s wing. “I like him,” he said, his face heating at the frank admission. “I’m sure TC does, too.” He squared his shoulders, wings echoing Thudnercracker. “Besides, Star. You’re our Air Commander, but you can’t tell us who we can be with.”  
  
“Me Swoop like him Skywarp,” Swoop said with a little wiggle on top of his stool. It looked like he had to invoke every ounce of self-control to keep from leaping off it. “Even him Thundercracker.”  
  
“Their affection for me is overwhelming,” Thundercracker said dryly.  
  
Starscream snorted. “Why am I not surprised?” he said and arched an orbital ridge. “I look away for two seconds, and you two decide you need a Dinobot of your own, heedless of what I think.”  
  
“Actually, me Swoop wanted Seeker of my own,” Swoop corrected cheerfully, finger scratching at the side of his nasal ridge.  
  
Laughter bubbled up behind Skywarp, and it was genuine enough to make him feel less threatened. “I blame that on you, Ratch.”  
  
“You be quiet,” the Autobot medic snapped, though there didn’t seem to be any heat behind it.  
  
In fact, the whole stare down seemed to feel a lot less accusatory, with humor lurking behind everyone’s expression and vocal tone. Swoop didn’t seem concerned, and while Slag and Snarl loomed like two very angry Dinobots to the side, there was a distinct lack of aggressive energy.  
  
Skywarp dared ease out behind Thundercracker, choosing instead to sling an arm around his trinemate’s waist. “So are you guys here to disapprove and tell us to stay away? Cause unless it’s coming from Swoop, I’m not gonna do that.”  
  
“Then you’re serious about him?” Starscream asked, his tone mild rather than accusatory or dismissive.  
  
Skywarp cycled a ventilation and looked at the winged Dinobot. “I’m as serious as I can be,” he admitted truthfully. It was weird though because the minute he said it, all of his embarrassment vanished. “I like you, Swoop. A lot. I don’t know what that means for the future except that I’m willing to find out.”  
  
He couldn’t promise anything. Right now, he couldn’t even say he wanted to officially court Swoop. They weren’t at that point, and Skywarp was not Grimlock, who apparently had been lusting after Starscream for quite some time. Aside of that, Starscream needed that official kind of statement. He needed those rules because he needed to know he was valued.  
  
Skywarp didn’t, and he suspected Swoop didn’t either. Swoop, for all that he had been through, knew exactly what he wanted, and never held himself back.  
  
Plus, Skywarp’s relationship with Thundercracker was complicated. It always had been. Whatever the three of them decided would take time and multiple conversations.  
  
_Preferably_ without nosy creators, trinemates, and Dino brothers peering at them as though they were all three a new species of predacon.  
  
Swoop grinned and this time, he did leap off the stool, sweeping Skywarp up in an embrace and lifting him off the ground as a result. Skywarp all but squawked. Sometimes, he forgot how very big Swoop was.  
  
“Me Swoop like you Skywarp, too,” Swoop murmured, his vocals buzzing against Skywarp’s audial.  
  
“That’s so adorable,” someone said behind them, though Skywarp could scarcely make out who given that he was surrounded by all that was Swoop.  
  
Which wasn’t, in retrospect, a bad place to be. Swoop’s field was as warm and inviting as his frame, and his energy field stroked over Skywarp’s affectionately.  
  
“Well, I guess that’s settled,” a cranky voice added, and Skywarp didn’t have to look to know it was Ratchet. “Thundercracker, you’re supposed to be in a berth. Come over here and let me look you over.”  
  
Skywarp chuckled and pressed his forehelm to Swoop’s. “We can work on Thundercracker together. He needs a lot more cuddling then he’ll admit to.”  
  
“I do not,” Thundercracker retorted, having caught the murmured aside. He had no problems reporting to Ratchet for an examination though.  
  
Swoop laughed and squeezed Skywarp tighter.  
  
“Fine,” Starscream said with a huff. “But you three still need to tell Grimlock.”  
  
“Oh, Primus,” Skywarp moaned, burying his face in Swoop’s intake.  
  
Swoop pressed a kiss to the crown of his helm. “It be fine. Him Grimlock nice.”  
  
Starscream laughed so hard Ratchet had to give him a quick systems scan, too.  
  


~

  
  
Despite the terrifying battle against the Decepticon Justice Division, Knock Out currently had no patients. To be fair, he should have had at least one, but when he looked in on the Seekers, both Thundercracker and Skywarp were gone. Knock Out didn’t have the energy to go shouting after them, so he let them be. If Thundercracker collapsed, it would be his own fault.  
  
Starscream had been released. Cyclonus’ repairs had been minor especially given that he hadn’t wanted to seal the scars on his face. Grimlock had gone to his creator for repairs, and all the other cuts, scrapes, and dents had been fixed.  
  
Even Snarl had gone, off to Commander Starscream’s suite with the rest of his brothers. He’d all but jittered with excitement when Ratchet and Wheeljack had appeared, his optics lighting up especially at the sight of the engineer.  
  
He technically didn’t have an official shift in the medbay. Nonetheless, he’d politely, as much as he could manage, asked to be dismissed.  
  
Knock Out didn’t see any reason not to let him go. So with him gone, and Breakdown also dismissed, Knock Out was left alone.  
  
The silence was not as appealing as he thought it would be. He hadn’t realized how much he’d grown used to the company of others. Especially since he had always preferred solitude before.  
  
He started to roam. Might as well check the medbay, make sure all the rooms were clean and well-stocked, perhaps get something like an inventory ready for Lord Grimlock. They would need to purchase new materials eventually.  
  
Knock Out rubbed at his forehelm, fighting back a yawn. Only a few more hours and he could leave the medbay in Glit’s hands. Errr, paws. He briefly wondered if there was any chance of the DJD medic being released. They could always use more help.  
  
He paused mid-step as he passed by a room, glancing in as he always did. Processor belatedly registering the image, Knock Out backed up a few paces and peered inside.  
  
Sure enough, there was Breakdown, his back to the door, his frame hunched over a desk. The overhead light was off, though the desk lamp had been activated. The glow of a datapad reflected on his faceplate.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Breakdown startled, one hand smacking the lamp, and the chair squeaking as he whirled around. His optics were wide, bright.  
  
Knock Out folded his arms and leaned against the door jamb. “You’re off-shift. Why aren’t you resting or out doing something fun?” He made a vague gesture to New Iacon at large.  
  
Granted the terms of Breakdown’s parole meant there were few places he was allowed to be, but still. He could have visited the local refueling station, or taken a stroll around the construction, or even returned to his quarters and played games on his private console.  
  
“I’m, um, I’m studying.” Breakdown held his datapad in front of him as though it were a shield.  
  
Knock Out lowered his orbital ridge. “Wouldn’t you rather be doing something fun?”  
  
Breakdown shrugged, his tires bouncing when he did so. “Right now, this is all I can do.” He paused, his optics dimming. “I’m not a medic. It’s hard to learn this stuff.”  
  
Oh, but that was familiar. Knock Out’s spark twanged at the look on Breakdown’s face. Painfully familiar.  
  
And he didn’t have any patients.  
  
“Do you want some help?” he offered. He would hear it if the main doors beeped. He could be available if someone needed him.  
  
This, however, was far better than roaming the halls and counting down the minutes.  
  
Breakdown’s face flared with heat. “If you have the time,” he said, and ducked his helm, half-spinning back toward his desk.  
  
“As it just so happens, I do.” Knock Out pushed off the jamb and strode into the room. “Those things were written by gatekeeping mechs who thought if you didn’t immediately understand it, you didn’t deserve to know it. How about we prove them wrong?”  
  
He slid in at Breakdown’s left hand side, bracing his elbows on the desk top as Breakdown swiveled back to face it again. “You really want to be a medic, huh?”  
  
Breakdown stared hard at his datapad. “I want to be something,” he said, his fingers tightening around the device. His field shivered where it pressed against Knock Out’s own, for once not immediately shying away.  
  
“Then I’ll help you,” Knock Out said and peered at the datapad. “What are you having the most trouble with?”  
  
Breakdown’s field softened around the edges, tension bleeding from his frame. “Right now, this section here,” he said, and pointed to a particularly dense passage.  
  
“Luckily, this is one of my specialties.” Knock Out smiled.  
  
It was nice, for once, to be teaching instead of being taught. And he had to agree with Breakdown.  
  
Sometimes, you just wanted to be _something_. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Feel the Light," Jennifer Lopez

  
To say that he’d practically danced out of the command center would be an absolute lie, and Grimlock would defend himself until the day his spark grayed. Yes, he’d been eager to get off-shift and see what ruin Starscream and Ratchet had left in his absence. No, he hadn’t pranced out of the command center.   
  
He’d ignored the smirk in Krok’s optics, and made his escape. He headed straight for Starscream’s habsuite, simultaneously worried and elated. When he arrived, it was ominously silent behind the door, yet he let himself inside anyway.   
  
The main lights were dimmed, only bright enough to highlight the furniture. Biolights on the futon indicated the presence of a single mech, as did the dim illumination of a lighted datapad.   
  
Grimlock gave a long, pointed look around him. “Where is everyone?” He’d expected chaos. Where was the noise?  
  
Ratchet rose from the futon, his datapad vanishing into subspace as he stretched his arms over his helm. “Your Intended is recharging as he should be. Your brothers are in Dinobot Central – cute name by the way – with Wheeljack. I intend to join them.”   
  
Grimlock ignored the disappointment swamping his spark. He’d looked forward to being around everyone he considered his family.   
  
“Oh, I see.” He hoped he didn’t sound as disappointed as he felt. “How is Starscream?”   
  
Ratchet waved a dismissing hand. “Snappish. Irritated. Cutting. In other words, he’s absolutely fine.”   
  
Well, at least they hadn’t killed each other.   
  
Grimlock inclined his helm.”Thank you for looking after him.”   
  
“It’s what I do.” Ratchet smiled softly. “He still needs to be on berth rest. So he’s in no condition to--”  
  
“Ratchet, I do have some restraint,” Grimlock said, cutting off his creator before he could finish that sentence and embarrass the both of them. “I’ll check on him and then crash on the futon.”   
  
Ratchet folded his arms and grinned. “You had better. Don’t think I won’t come back in here and drag you out by your audials, if I have to. I’ve interrupted worse.”   
  
Could this _conversation_ get any worse?  
  
Grimlock rubbed at his forehelm. “Isn’t it time for you to recharge? Old mechs need more of it after all.”   
  
Ratchet whapped the back of his hand against Grimlock’s shoulder. “Don’t you start.” His hand came back, gently this time, resting on the crook of Grimlock’s arm. “Swoop wanted to talk to you, so come see him when you online.”   
  
“Yes, Mama.”   
  
“Don’t you start that either.” Ratchet grinned at him, though it was lopsided. He gave Grimlock’s arm a squeeze. “I’m proud of you, kid. Just thought you should know.”   
  
Grimlock turned, leaned down, and briefly pressed his forehelm to Ratchet’s chevron. “I know. Now get out of here. You know Wheeljack doesn’t recharge well if you’re not next to him.”   
  
“He is a bit of a cuddler.” Ratchet pulled free, his field nudging Grimlock’s with affection. “Recharge well, kid.”   
  
“You, too.”   
  
Ratchet left, and Grimlock was free to make his way back to Starscream’s berthroom as quietly as he was capable. He couldn’t help but lumber unfortunately, though he did his best not to stomp around.   
  
The door to Starscream’s berth was open, surprisingly, but inside it was dim, with nothing but muted running lights and Starscream’s bio lights. Starscream lay on his front, helm turned away from the door, but as Grimlock stood in the doorway, he stirred.   
  
“About time you got here,” he said, voice wreathed in static, as though he’d only been dozing rather than recharging. “I had to entertain that mess you call a family for hours.”   
  
Grimlock chuckled and stepped further inside, picking his way across the floor. “I’m sure you provided ample entertainment.” He sat on the edge of the berth, angling his frame toward Starscream, even as the Seeker, pushed himself upright, one hand rubbing over his optics.   
  
“Mmm.” Starscream made a noncommittal noise. “Anything important happen?”   
  
“You’re not on duty for another week, Star.”   
  
Wings flicked, first one and then the other. “Your point?”   
  
Grimlock shifted, lifting one hand to curl around the edge of a twitching wing. “No, nothing important happened. Unless you count that Optimus asked me to approve a petition to arrest Metalhawk.”   
  
“It’s about time.” Starscream’s wing pushed into his touch, letting his fingers slide along the edge. His field pulsed fatigue and warmth both, his optics dimming. “Shut the door and come to berth. Your creator insists I need more rest, and I actually believe him.”   
  
Grimlock snorted a laugh and pushed to his pedes. He closed the door and locked it – Starscream could never sleep with a door open – and returned to the berth.   
  
“I was told to leave you in peace,” he said as he eased onto the berth, unsurprised when Starscream all but clambered on top of him, curling against chest. He rested one arm around the Seeker, spark throbbing at the feel of static bandages and temp plating.   
  
“Recharging with me is peaceful,” Starscream retorted. His engine thrummed softly, vibrating against Grimlock’s armor. “I didn’t ask you to ‘face me, Mama’s boy.”   
  
Grimlock chuckled. “I know.” He stroked a hand down Starscream’s back, careful to avoid the sensitive wing hinges. “How are you feeling?”  
  
Starscream made a non-committal noise, his frame relaxing as he rested his helm on Grimlock’s chestplate. “I’ll be better once I can get back to work. Inaction is torture.”   
  
It was Grimlock’s turn to hum noncommittally. He listened to the sound of Starscream’s vents, not labored, but even and calming. He tracked the steady pulse of Starscream’s spark. He felt the even hum of Starscream’s engine. Wings ceased flicking, resting against Starscream’s back.   
  
Grimlock’s hand stroked down Starscream’s back once more, and then rested on the base of it. He offlined his visor and listened to his Intended cycle back toward recharge. He would guard Starscream’s sleep before he would allow himself his own.   
  


~

  
  
Grimlock onlined to an annoying ping in his comm suite, one that refused to be ignored. He groaned and tried to roll over, but a warm weight on his chest prevented him from doing so.   
  
He onlined his visor, registered that the ping came from Cyclonus, and looked down the length of his frame. Starscream lay sprawled on top of him, deep in recharge, his face relaxed and his wings calm. Grimlock had an arm over Starscream, draped loosely across his waist.   
  
Primus, but he was beautiful.   
  
Grimlock shifted Cyclonus’ ping to a temporary queue, telling him to wait a moment, and stroked his hand down Starscream’s back.   
  
“Star.”   
  
“Nnn.” Starscream stirred, but just barely. He nuzzled Grimlock’s chestplate, helm turning from one side to the other.   
  
Grimlock’s spark squeezed a little tighter. “Star, wake up. I need to get up.”   
  
Starscream’s fingers twitched, talons emerging to lock into his seams. “Can’t. Recharging,” he said, more lucid this time.   
  
“Yes, but I have to work.”   
  
“Ugh.” Starscream lifted his helm, optics dim as he peered at Grimlock. “You owe me more time than this.”   
  
Grimlock gently stroked his backstrut. “Duty calls, Star.”   
  
His Intended heaved a great sigh and disengaged his claws, sliding off of Grimlock’s frame and onto the berth, as Grimlock shifted to make room for him. It took all of his self-control to force himself off the berth and away from the warm weight that was Starscream. If he had a choice, he’d linger here all day.   
  
“What’s on the docket today?” Starscream asked as he wriggled about to make himself comfortable.   
  
Grimlock almost forgot to answer the question, as he was paying too much attention to Starscream’s aft. “Ratchet said Swoop wanted to tell me something,” he said, and tapped his comm. “And I’ve Cyclonus pinging me.”   
  
Starscream laughed into pillow. “If Swoop’s not in Dinobot Central, then he’s with my trinemates,” he said.   
  
“What? Why?”   
  
Starscream shrugged, but it was far from dismissive. “They fly together a lot.”   
  
“Do they.” It wasn’t a question. Grimlock suspected there was more going on here than he knew. However, he’d find out soon enough.   
  
He leaned forward and brushed the back of his hand over Starscream’s visible cheek. “Rest well. I’ll be back tonight.”   
  
Starscrea’s optics had already shuttered. “You’d better,” he murmured, the very picture of relaxation.   
  
Every inch of Grimlock wanted to stay. He forced himself to spin on a heelstrut and head for the door. He had responsibilities. He was leader. He could not cuddle his Intended for the remainder of the day.   
  
In the hallway, Grimlock finally answered Cyclonus’ ping, if only to distract himself from leaving Starscream behind. “Yes? What is it?”   
  
“Shockwave wants an audience,” his third in command replied, somehow managing not to sound irritated at the wait. “His repeated requests have become bothersome.”   
  
Grimlock had purposefully put Shockwave off as long as possible. He didn’t want to give in to any of the scientist’s demands, but he did have some honor. Shockwave did deserve some leniency for saving Starscream’s life. He might even prove to be of use in the future. He only had to be tempered. Never freed, but definitely watched.   
  
“I’ll speak with him now,” Grimlock replied, adjusting course for the brig instead. “Is there anything else?”   
  
“Nothing that can’t wait.”   
  
“Understood. Thank you, Cyclonus.”   
  
“Yes, sir.”   
  
The comm went silent.   
  
Less than ten minutes later, Grimlock strode into the brig, nodding a greeting to Cyclonus’ third-in-command, a hulking rotary by the name of Blackout. One who didn’t look at all the worse for wear given that Starscream had bludgeoned him to unconsciousness, stole his blaster, and escaped the medbay.   
  
Grimlock sincerely hoped Blackout wasn’t the sort to hold a grudge. He still intended to encourage Starscream to apologize as soon as possible.   
  
“Shockwave’s already in Interrogation One, sir,” Blackout rumbled at him, looking down at Grimlock with four optics that blinked in succession. “Cyclonus called ahead.”   
  
“Thank you, Blackout,” Grimlock replied. He remained steadily delighted that he’d made an excellent choice in picking Cyclonus as his third.   
  
Grimlock paused at the window before entering the room, looking in on the purple scientist. Shockwave sat in a chair, neither of his arms shackled, though he remained unarmed. He stared forward, his single optic focused on the door. He did not fidget, or look around him.   
  
As cold as ice, that one. Without an ounce of humility or humanity in him.   
  
Time to get this over with.   
  
Grimlock keyed his code into the panel and stepped into the room. The door slid shut behind him, locking with a definitive click. Not that he expected Shockwave to try and escape.   
  
“Grimlock.” Shockwave tilted his helm in greeting. “How kind of you to finally respond to my numerous requests.”   
  
“I’ve been busy.” He pulled out a chair, the legs screeching across the floor. “There are matters far more important than you.”   
  
Shockwave made a vague gesture with the one hand. “As a matter of course,” he agreed, charitably. “However, there is the matter of a promise that was made. I wish to receive what I am owed. And as I am told you are a mech of your word, I do expect to receive it.”   
  
Grimlock leaned against the table, threading his fingers together and bracing his elbows against the edge. “What do you want?”   
  
“Freedom, but I know that will not be given to me without some caveats,” Shockwave said, his helm tilting by a fraction. “All I wish is to continue my research. I have no interest in politics, or leadership. The science is all that matters.”   
  
“Caveats,” Grimlock repeated, and tried not to let his disdain for Shockwave show.   
  
He might have failed. He didn’t much care.   
  
“You will submit what you intend to research for approval,” Grimlock began. He’d put some thought into this, but not much. “You will be supervised at all times by someone who actually knows what you are trying to accomplish. All supply requests will go through your supervisor and me. You will not have free reign. You will bunk in the brig, and released at times determined by myself or my command team.”   
  
Shockwave shifted in his chair. “You give me no leeway.”   
  
“You deserve none,” Grimlock retorted coldly. “You saved Starscream’s spark, and for that I am grateful. But I’ve not forgotten what you did to Swoop or First Aid. And while I hold no love for the Twins, your treatment of them is reprehensible. I know there were others, Autobots who didn’t live long enough to see freedom.”   
  
Shockwave’s optic brightened. “Sacrifices must be made for progress. It is universal law.”   
  
Grimlock’s tanks churned. “Not anymore.” He narrowed his visor at Shockwave. “Those are my terms.”   
  
“Who will be my supervisor?”   
  
Grimlock barely kept himself from laughing. “That is a very good question. If you can find someone who is willing to do so, I must approve of them.”   
  
Shockwave’s optic narrowed. His field flickered, the first sign of irritation. “You are making this unnecessarily difficult.”   
  
“You are in the brig for a reason, Shockwave,” Grimlock retorted and leaned back in his chair, giving the scientist a hard stare. “I must do what is necessary to protect my Decepticons and the terms of the treaty. If you don’t like the terms, then you can stay in your cell.”   
  
Shockwave ex-vented noisily. “How am I to find a capable supervisor?”   
  
Grimlock rose to his pedes, bracing his hands on the table and leaning forward. “Draft requests. I’ll make sure that Cyclonus’ mechs deliver them to the proper recipients.” He doubted anyone would agree, but he’d let Shockwave try.   
  
“Am I restricted to Decepticons?”   
  
“If you believe an Autobot or a Neutral would be willing to take responsibility for you, you are more than welcome to try,” Grimlock replied.   
  
“Very well.” Shockwave’s tone was tight, his armor even more so. “Then I accept the terms of my release. For now.”   
  
Grimlock pushed off the table. “Good for you.” He turned around and strode to the door. “Blackout will be in to return you to your cell. Have a good evening, Shockwave.”   
  
“And to you, Lord Grimlock.”   
  
The door shut and locked behind him. Only then did Grimlock cycle a long ventilation, letting his field burst with disgust, his armor shivering. It took all he had not to leap across the table and rip out Shockwave’s spark.   
  
Shockwave deserved no mercy. And yet, he would receive it. Because Grimlock was better than Shockwave ever could be.   
  
Swoop was worth more than that.   
  
And speaking of Swoop….  
  
Grimlock spun on a heelstrut and started down the corridor. Time to find his youngest brother, he supposed. After he sent a quick comm to Cyclonus to inform him of Shockwave’s deal.   
  


~

  
  
Skywarp was in heaven, or the closest thing to it at any rate. The only thing that could have made this better were if Thundercracker were fully repaired, or they were in mid-air, flying to their spark’s content.   
  
Still, happiness abounded.   
  
He was currently snuggled between his two lovers, Thundercracker at his left and Swoop at his right, both of them radiating heat that kept Skywarp at a soothing, pleasant temperature. Thundercracker was hotter, given that his frame still worked to self-repair, but Swoop cuddled closer.   
  
Yep. Perfect.   
  
“I can hear you grinning, you know,” Thundercracker murmured without unshuttering an optic. “You should be recharging.”   
  
Skywarp tried not to wriggle and disturb Swoop as well. “Don’t wanna,” he said, turning his helm toward his trinemate. “Feeling better?”   
  
“Sore. Achy.” Thundercracker shifted, making the berthcovers rustle. “Damn Starscream.” The curse was a common mix of affection and exasperation.   
  
Skywarp patted the nearest part of Thundercracker he could reach – an upper thigh. “He didn’t yell. That’s a good thing.”   
  
Thundercracker made a noncommittal noise. “That depends on your point of view, I suppose.” One arm shifted, his hand moving to lay on Skywarp’s abdomen, just below his nose cone. “I’m off shift for another two days at least.”   
  
“I know. I have to take all the ones you can’t,” Skywarp grumbled. Well, that was kind of inaccurate. Sunstorm took most of Thundercracker’s command shifts. It was all the other, boring things that Skywarp had to take. Like supervising the construction crews.   
  
Thundercracker chuckled as he stroked Skywarp’s ventrum, slow and steady motions Skywarp could not help but respond to. The times Thundercracker eagerly came to him, with charge in his lines and heat in his spark, were the best times ever. Skywarp didn’t mind the odd relationship he had with Thundercracker.   
  
Well, odd to anyone on the outside looking it. To Skywarp, it was perfectly normal. Thundercracker’s systems just spun a different way than everyone else’s. It didn’t make Skywarp love him any less. And then they added Swoop to the mix, and all that did was add flavor to their relationship.   
  
Skywarp’s engine purred. He shifted on the berth, abdomen lightly pushing into Thundercracker’s fingertips. He hoped they would venture lower, lower, perhaps ghost over his interface panel and explore there, too.   
  
Oh, Primus how he hoped.   
  
Skywarp’s optics dimmed as he let himself enjoy the sensation. “Someone’s feeling frisky,” he murmured. Heat pulsed through his lines, his focus on the path of those gentle fingers.   
  
The berth shifted as Thundercracker leaned close before Skywarp felt the brush of lips over the curve of his jaw. “It happens,” he murmured.   
  
Skywarp shivered. His fingers shook where they rested on Thundercracker’s thigh, not yet daring to move in either direction. He didn’t want to shatter the moment.   
  
He felt another hand, this time on his right hip. It could not possibly have been Thundercracker’s, even though it did slide unerringly inward, toward the growing heat of Skywarp’s panel.   
  
He brightened his optics and turned his helm, looking directly into Swoop’s mischievous gaze.   
  
“Me Swoop want to play, too,” the Dinobot said, one finger sliding along a seam, nudging at the cable bundles beneath.   
  
Skywarp’s arm had been pinned under Swoop, yet he never felt the Dinobot move. Sometimes, Swoop could be rather sneaky.   
  
“Then consider yourself invited,” Skywarp replied with a grin, only to gasp and arch as Thundercracker’s hand joined Swoop’s, two sets of fingers tracing slow circles around Skywarp’s interface array. “I’m a lucky, lucky mech.”   
  
Swoop chuckled and nuzzled into Skywarp’s intake, his lips and denta nipping a path of pleasure over his cables. His fingers were the first to find Skywarp’s panel, rubbing the heel of his hand over it.   
  
Skywarp bucked up against Swoop, until Thundercracker pushed him back down with a firm hand on Skywarp’s hip.  
  
“Oh, no,” he groaned, his hand tightening around Thundercracker’s thigh while the other stroked Swoop’s backplate. “You’re both going to torture me now. What did I do to deserve that?”   
  
Thundercracker rumbled at him, his lips wandering to Skywarp’s audial and giving it a nuzzle. “Because it is such fun.”   
  
Primus.   
  
Skywarp moaned and licked his lips. Pressed between the two of them? Driven toward ecstasy with both of his lovers? This really was heaven.   
  
“Try and hold back,” Thundercracker murmured. His hand joined Swoop’s once more, stroking around and over Skywarp’s panel, tracing the seams of it.   
  
“Ask for the impossible why don’t you,” Skywarp grumbled. His optics lit again, and he looked down, spark skipping at the sight of two pairs of gray hands, one darker than the other.   
  
Another shiver danced down his spinal strut. His field reached out, and sizzled where it made contact with Thundercracker and Swoop’s.   
  
Swoop laughed and shifted, throwing one of his legs over the nearest of Skywarp’s, his hips rolling so that he rubbed his array against Skywarp’s hip. The soft scrape of metal on metal sent vibrations through Skywarp’s armor.   
  
“Me Swoop like you like this,” he said, denta leaving playful nips on Skywarp’s intake before moving down to his chest vents. “Make you Skywarp scream.”   
  
“He does get rather loud,” Thundercracker agreed, his vocals rich with amusement. “Noisy, too.”   
  
“Me like him Skywarp noisy,” Swoop said.   
  
“Mmm. Me, too.” Thundercracker’s mouth moved back to Skywarp’s jaw, getting closer and closer to his lips.   
  
Skywarp made a strangled sound. “Am I just supposed to lie here and take this?” he demanded, his pedes pushing at the berth as he rocked his hips, panel pinging him for release.   
  
“Yes,” his lovers said, in tandem, almost as though they’d planned it.   
  
Skywarp snickered. “Well then, carry on.” Like frag he was going to protest. Lie back and get inundated with pleasure? Sign him right up!  
  
A loud chime, however, chose that moment to ring through his and Thundercracker’s hab-suite. Skywarp cycled his optics and looked at his trinemate.   
  
“Uhh.”   
  
“Ignore it,” Thundercracker said as his heel rubbed hard against Skywarp’s panel, exciting the head of his spike beneath. “If it’s that important, they’ll ping us.”   
  
Swoop ex-vented warm air into Skywarp’s vents. “Yep. Me Swoop say ignore, too.”   
  
“Fine by me.” Skywarp licked his lips and bucked his hips again. “Can I open my panel now?” he asked as his plating juttered, and he sent another override.   
  
The door chimed again. Longer this time, as though whoever looked for them had held down the call button.   
  
Skywarp thumped his helm against the pillow. Thundercracker sighed and pressed his forehelm to Skywarp’s shoulder. Swoop laughed as he buried his face against Skywarp’s cockpit.   
  
“Wanna bet it’s Starscream?” Skywarp groaned as the chime sounded again.   
  
“He’s supposed to be on berth rest,” Thundercracker said.   
  
“Yeah, well, so are you, and yet here you are, groping me,” Skywarp retorted with a laugh. He patted his lovers and made motions to get up. “Better answer it. He’ll sulk if we don’t.”   
  
Swoop snickered, but was the first to pull up and off the berth, finding it easiest to extract himself. “Me Swoop get it.”   
  
Skywarp grinned. “You’re a good mech, Swoop. Don’t let anyone tell you different.” He winked. “Hurry back.”   
  
Swoop’s winglets gave a little flutter as he winked in return. “Don’t start without me Swoop,” he replied, and eased out of the berthroom.   
  
Thundercracker moved closer in Swoop’s absence, all but laying on Skywarp’s side. His mouth wandered back toward Skywarp’s jaw, his ex-vents tickling at Skywarp’s intake.   
  
“That’s not waiting,” Skywarp said.   
  
Thundercracker’s field stroked his, warm and thick with arousal. “There’s enough of you to go around,” he said, and dragged his mouth to Skywarp’s.   
  
Their lips met, first a bare brush, and then a deeper kiss. Skywarp moaned into it, their glossas touching, Thundercracker’s mouth warm and soft against his. The rare moments when Thundercracker had the urge to be intimate, to interface, those were some of the best moments of Skywarp’s functioning. He felt so lucky then, as though he were being given a precious gift.   
  
“Mmm.” Skywarp hummed into the kiss. “I hope Star goes away quick. I want to continue this.”   
  
“If we’re lucky, Swoop will scare him off,” Thundercracker agreed, nuzzling their nasal ridges together.   
  
“It’ll take a lot more than my brother to scare me off.”   
  
That was not Starscream’s voice. Neither was it Swoop’s.   
  
Skywarp went still, even as Thundercracker broke away from the kiss. Both of them looked toward the door, where none other than Lord Grimlock darkened the doorway. He loomed larger than usual, his visor a baleful gold.  
  
“Lord Grimlock,” Thundercracker greeted, finding his manners and his poise long before Skywarp could. “Is there something we can help you with?”   
  
Skywarp eased away from Thundercracker, if only so he felt less like he was caught with his panels open in front of his creator, or something equally humiliating. He felt the weight of Grimlock’s gaze on them, measuring and assessing, and didn’t know Grimlock well enough to guess what he found.   
  
“You can tell me your intentions,” Grimlock said, his arms folded over his chestplate.   
  
Thundercracker sighed and rubbed his faceplate. “We already had this conversation with your creators and Starscream both.”   
  
“And now you’re going to have it with me.”   
  
Skywarp thumped back against the berth, his hands covering his face. Primus, this was getting irritating. He’d never met a mech more protected in his entire functioning. “Since when do three consensual mechs need permission to date each other?”   
  
“Since you decided the third mech was going to be my brother,” Lord Grimlock said, his tone oddly even for all that he loomed in the doorway as a very large, very unmoving threat.   
  
“Shouldn’t it be his choice?” Thundercracker asked.   
  
Lord Grimlock cycled a ventilation. “I never said it wasn’t. I can’t stop him from seeing you, and I won’t. But I can make things very difficult if this is some kind of game to you. Especially since you never answered my question.”   
  
Skywarp forced himself to sit up, his wings twitching restlessly. “Like we told your overprotective creators: this isn’t a game. I don’t know what this is, but I’m serious about it. Until someone decides they want out, I’m in.”   
  
“I am not one to share the particulars of my private life,” Thundercracker added, moving to sit up next to Skywarp. “But I feel the same as Skywarp. To force a definition on something might place us in a position that none of us are ready for. Our current arrangement seems to work as it is.”   
  
Grimlock stared at them. It was unnerving to be under the force of that stare. Skywarp didn’t know how Starscream could stand to berth him. Grimlock was every definition of the word _intense_.   
  
Swoop, by contrast, was sunshine and light, humor and affection. He was charming and adorable, funny and smart. Skywarp still couldn’t believe he was dumb enough to think ill of Swoop. Or that Swoop was gracious enough to forgive him for it.   
  
“You Grimlock stop it!”   
  
Grimlock jerked forward, stumbling into the room, as Swoop pushed him inside. The flying Dinobot scowled, his lips curled with disapproval.   
  
“Be nice,” Swoop added as huffed his ventilations and stared up at his eldest brother. “Me Swoop choose them. Me Swoop want them. My choice, not yours.”   
  
Grimlock huffed and stared down at Swoop. “Me Grimlock know that,” he growled, armor fluffing. Swoop still didn’t back down. “But me Grimlock protect you Swoop. Always. That my job.”   
  
Swoop’s winglets flicked. He threw himself at Grimlock, wrapping his arms around the larger Dinobot’s frame in a tight embrace.   
  
“Me Swoop know,” he said. “And me Swoop happy. But you Grimlock need to not worry. Take care of yourself. And him Starscream.” Swoop laughed softly. “Me Swoop fine.”   
  
Grimlock cycled a ventilation and returned the hold, his hands patting Swoop’s back. “You Swoop grow too fast.”   
  
Awwww.   
  
Skywarp’s spark warmed. They were pretty adorable. They reminded him of his hatchmates, forever and a war ago. Geez, but he hadn’t thought about them in ages. All of them were dead now, like so many other Cybertronians.   
  
“Are you done interrogating us?” Thundercracker asked, doing a remarkable job to hide the annoyance in his tone, though not his field. “We were kind of in the middle of something.”   
  
“TC!” Skywarp hissed and whapped his trinemate in the shoulder. “Don’t say that in front of him.”   
  
“Why not? It’s true.” Thundercracker shrugged.   
  
Grimlock all but glared from his visor.   
  
Swoop laughed and eased out of his brother’s embrace. “Him Thunder, right. We busy. So go.” He pushed Grimlock toward the door and made shooing motions. “Go back to him Starscream. Go.”   
  
“Fine. But me Grimlock watching,” he rumbled with a glance over his shoulder.   
  
Swoop gave him another push, and out Grimlock went, seeing himself to the main door. Skywarp heard it swish open and lock behind their leader, and the minute it did so, Swoop launched himself at the berth, tackling Skywarp back into it.   
  
“We were busy, yes?” Swoop said as he nudged a knee between Skywarp’s thighs, one hand reaching for Thundercracker.   
  
Just like that, Grimlock’s unfortunate visit and threat were forgotten. There was nothing but joy, acceptance, and desire in Swoop’s field. He would stand against his brother for them.   
  
Warmth fluttered into Skywarp’s spark.   
  
Skywarp chuckled and wrapped a leg around the Dinobot’s waist, bucking up against him. “Very.” He slanted a look at Thundercracker. “Still going to join us?”   
  
Thundercracker accepted Swoop’s hand and let himself be pulled closer to where they were entwined on the berth. “Yes. Though I think I’ll watch for round one.” He visibly squeezed Swoop’s hand. “You both put on a good show.”   
  
Swoop laughed. “Fine by me.”   
  
Skywarp beamed. Yep. Pinned between his two lovers. He couldn’t imagine anywhere else he’d rather be.   
  


~

  
  
Starscream absolutely was not lonely. He was, however, bored out of his processor. Grimlock hadn’t lingered long before he’d had to leave for one of many numerous tasks. Thundercracker and Skywarp weren’t answering their comms.   
  
Sunstorm had only given him a clipped reply of, “I have been informed you are on medical leave, Commander. I am not allowed to give you any information yet.” Then he’d had the audacity to end the comm.   
  
Starscream was left with nothing to do but read datapads, watch mindless entertainment on the vidscreen, or recharge. None of it sounded appealing.   
  
Of course, he could have ignored both Knock Out’s and Ratchet’s medical advice, and roamed the entirety of New Iacon as he pleased. There was no rule that said he had to obey them. But after getting up and pacing around his habsuite twice, fatigue settled in, and he conceded defeat.   
  
He took the downtime for what it was and tried to enjoy it. He dozed. He consumed unhealthy amounts of energon and rust sticks someone had kindly left for him – he suspected Grimlock. He consumed datapads of fictional novels he’d been meaning to read for ages, and didn’t finish a single one of them.   
  
They were no longer as interesting as he thought they might be. Sparkling tales seemed even much more that in the wake of the war. Scientific journals were nonsense, gibberish lost to the classes he never managed to take. Romance novels paled in comparison to his own weird, yet satisfying love life.   
  
The datapads weren’t a complete waste of his time, just most of one.   
  
So he would never admit to leaping with delight, spark thumping excitedly, when he heard someone input the code to his quarters. Very few mechs had access to his private suite, and of those, only one would come by without a prior invitation extended.   
  
Instead, Starscream buried his face in the book he wasn’t reading, and pretended complete disinterest as the door opened, and Grimlock let himself inside.   
  
“Have you even moved since I left?” Grimlock asked, amusement rich in his vocals.   
  
Starscream made a show of powering down the datapad and stowing it. “Yes. Of course I have.” He peered up at his Intended. “Anything interesting happen?” He hoped if he asked it enough, Grimlock would share with him, medical orders be damned.   
  
“Nothing of consequence.”   
  
Starscream narrowed his optics. “I don’t believe you.”   
  
“And I don’t think you need to get excited over nothing when you’re still recovering,” Grimlock retorted, his voice smug. One hand rifled around in his subspace, only to produce a box, which he then handed to Starscream.   
  
“What is it?” he asked, suspicious. “A bribe?”   
  
“A gift.” Grimlock eased onto the futon beside Starscream, taking up nearly twice the room, and leaving their frames pressed together. “We are courting after all.”   
  
Starscream’s grip tightened around the box. “Indeed we are.” Given all that had happened as of late, he’d, well, not forgotten. But he’d definitely not given it much attention.   
  
He plucked at the ribbon, untying the lopsided bow, and lifted off the lid. Inside were an assortment of energon candies in various flavors and colors. Some were dusted with flavored metal shavings. Others were drizzled in some kind of oil.   
  
“Where did you get these?” Starscream asked, even as his mouth filled with oral lubricant, and his tank clenched eagerly.   
  
“Swindle has a surprisingly far reach, for all that we are out of touch with the rest of the universe,” Grimlock said. He sounded proud of himself. “I won’t tell you what they cost me.”   
  
Starscream worked his intake, selecting a bright yellow goodie with a dusting of what looked to be sweet rust. “If it’s Swindle, I don’t want to know,” he murmured, before he popped the candy into his mouth, the sour-sweet flavor bursting over his glossa.   
  
His engine rumbled with pleasure. He hadn’t tasted delights such as these in decades. He’d forgotten how good energon could taste.   
  
“You like?” Grimlock asked. He draped an arm across the back of the futon, his fingers toying with the tip of Starscream’s furthest wing.   
  
Starscream licked his lips and plucked another from the box. “Is it not obvious?” He popped the goodie into his mouth, this one syrupy sweet and drizzled with oil.   
  
If he wasn’t careful, he’d sit and eat the whole box. So he leaned forward and set it on the nearby table, out of reach.   
  
Grimlock chuckled. “I hate to assume.” He stroked the edge of Starscream’s wing, his field reaching out and brushing Starscream’s own. “How do you feel?”   
  
“Well enough to get back to work,” Starscream said, only partially a lie.   
  
“I think your medic would disagree with you.”   
  
Starscream snorted and licked his lips, cleaning the last trace of the goodie from them. He had to resist the urge to reach for the box again, instead settling into Grimlock’s side. The Decepticon leader radiated heat like a furnace, but there was something comforting about it.   
  
He listened to Grimlock’s engine purr. A happy, sated sound. He felt lulled by the steady strokes of his wings. Lulled, and more than a little aroused. Heat lazily pulsed into his lines, his circuits. He squirmed on the futon, wriggling closer to Grimlock.   
  
He would never admit aloud how much he had missed Grimlock in his lover’s absence.   
  
His wing pushed into Grimlock’s hand, and he shivered when another light stroke sent a tingle of pleasure through his frame.   
  
Grimlock softly chuckled. “I don’t think that’s medically advisable,” he murmured.   
  
“There’s nothing wrong with a little touching,” Starscream said with a sniff. He tried not to squirm, but Grimlock’s strokes were perfect. He’d gotten used to a certain amount of pleasure, damn it.   
  
“A little?” Grimlock hummed, his hand leaving Starscream’s swing to stroke down his side, tickling at his ventral seams. “Should I stop then?”   
  
Starscream leaned closer to him. “Don’t you dare,” he growled.   
  
“Well, in that case….”   
  
The futon shifted, Grimlock’s hand vanished, and Starscream had a moment to be outraged before he felt himself lifted right off the futon and placed on Grimlock’s lap. Sometimes, he forgot how much larger and stronger Grimlock could be. And yet, he never felt unsafe around his new leader. Not like he had around Megatron.   
  
Perhaps because Grimlock had never raised a hand to him. Had only ever treated him carefully.   
  
Now, he sat with his back to Grimlock’s chestplate, his wings tucked between them, his thighs hooked over Grimlock’s. Hands rested on his hips, though one was already pushing inward, petting over his warm interface panels.   
  
Starscream shivered, leaning back into Grimlock’s embrace. “This is better,” he murmured, hips pushing toward Grimlock’s hand.   
  
Grimlock laughed quietly, his frame radiating heat against Starscream’s. “I will have to be careful,” he murmured as he stroked circles around Starscream’s panel. “Open for me?”   
  
It was always in the asking.   
  
Starscream’s spark bloomed with heat as he sent the command, letting his protective panel transform away. The head of his spike peeped into view, his valve twitching as cool air whisked over exposed components.   
  
Starscream clamped his hands on Grimlock’s arms, his optics shuttering as he let himself indulge in sensation. Grimlock’s fingers worked gentle magic as they stroked over his array, softly rubbing the head of his spike until it fully pressurized into Grimlock’s fist. Grimlock’s other hand rested on Starscream’s thigh.   
  
“Mmm.” Grimlock’s helm nuzzled against his, mouthplate brushing the back of Starscream’s helm. “Next time, I should do this in front of a mirror. So I can watch your face.”   
  
A shiver worked its way up Starscream’s backstrut. He cycled a ventilation and unshuttered his optics, looking down to watch Grimlock’s fingers stroke over his spike. It looked so small in the Dinobot’s grip, but something about the size difference sent another wave of heat through him.   
  
“Just my face?” he asked.   
  
“All of you,” Grimlock corrected, and gave Starscream’s spike a squeeze. “You are beautiful, especially in pleasure. There’s little I like more than seeing you come apart in my hands.”   
  
Hnngh.   
  
Warmth throbbed through Starscream. He groaned, his hips rolling up into Grimlock’s fist. His hands clenched tightly around Grimlock’s arms, though not enough to dent the reinforced armor.   
  
His helm tilted back, laying on Grimlock’s shoulder, his wings trapped between their frames. “And here I thought you didn’t like my spike,” Starscream gasped out as charge rattled through his lines.   
  
More pre-fluid gathered at the tip of his channel, moistening the way for Grimlock’s fingers. His valve seeped, fluttering wildly on nothing.   
  
At least until Grimlock’s other hand slid from his thigh, his large fingers tracing the rim of Starscream’s valve.   
  
Starscream groaned, pleasure peppering up and down in his backstrut in waves. His vents roared.   
  
“I like it just fine,” Grimlock rumbled, his vocalizations a deep purr in Starscream’s audial. “And as soon as you’re fully recovered, I’d like to feel it within me.”   
  
Lust crashed over Starscream. His valve rippled as two fingers pushed into it, curling and stroking the inner nodes. His spike throbbed in Grimlock’s grip.   
  
He shivered, his processor filling the blanks as he imagined pushing into a valve he had yet to see. For all that Grimlock had driven him crazy with pleasure, from his spike alone, Starscream figured Grimlock didn’t care for his valve at all.   
  
“Don’t mock me,” Starscream said.   
  
Grimlock’s helm pressed to his, his ex-vents ghosting over the back of Starscream’s neck. “I would never,” he rumbled, and squeezed Starscream’s spike as he thrust two fingers deep.   
  
Starscream’s back arched, his vents caught on a gasp. Charge flickered through his lines, his spark pounding. He moaned, static lining his vocals, and panted air through his intake.   
  
“You have no idea how often I have wondered how you’d feel inside of me,” Grimlock continued, his hands working Starscream’s array faster, and with determination.   
  
His frame shifted beneath Starscream, hips moving in tune to Starscream’s rocks, as he pushed his spike into Grimlock’s fist and clenched around Grimlock’s fingers.   
  
Starscream gnawed on his bottom lip. “You lie.”   
  
“I do not.” Grimlock growled, the vibrations rattling through Starscream’s frame. “You have a beautiful spike. My only regret is that I do not have a mouth to properly taste it.”   
  
Starsream groaned, his processor spinning. Pleasure stole his thoughts, his computing abilities. He rhythmically clenched Grimlock’s arms, rolling his hips faster and faster into Grimlock’s talented hands.   
  
Grimlock’s fingers plunged deeper, and Starscream cycled down tight on them, his nodes aching with need. He shook in Grimlock’s hold, panting desperately.   
  
“It’s nothing special,” Starscream gasped out, his optics dimming as he focused on the pleasure and nothing else.   
  
“I would beg to differ.” Grimlock squeezed and stroked him, each motion feeling as though he savored it. “I enjoy how it feels in my hand. I imagine it in my valve, exciting my nodes, and I imagine you bringing me pleasure, and that is more than enough for me.”   
  
Starscream whimpered. Grimlock’s words were intoxicating. They sounded genuine, as though he meant every compliment, and Starscream fed on the praise. He felt overcharged on it.   
  
Pleasure swelled over and through him.   
  
“Soon, my Intended,” Grimlock purred, his voice rumbling through Starscream’s entire frame. “Until then, let me feel your pleasure.”   
  
Overload dragged him, stripping him raw. Starscream all but shrieked as his spike spurted, and his valve clamped down, trapping Grimlock’s fingers within him. His engine red-lined, vents roaring, pleasure flooding his frame, and charge erupting from beneath his armor.   
  
It seemed to carry into infinity, until Starscream dropped down again, sagging in Grimlock’s lap. He panted for cool air, even as Grimlock’s hand still gently worked his depressurizing spike, and his fingers rested in Starscream’s valve.   
  
“Nnnn,” Starscream moaned, his processor spinning.   
  
Grimlock rumbled approval. “That sounded like a good one.” His fingers twitched within Starscream’s valve. “Want another?”   
  
“Like that? It might kill me.” Starscream forced his optical shutters back open, only belatedly realizing he’d squeezed them shut.   
  
Grimlock chuckled and nuzzled his helm. “You may have a point there.” His fingers gently withdrew from Starscream’s valve, and his damp hand rested on Starscream’s thigh. “We have pushed it enough already.”   
  
“Mmm.” Lazy satisfaction coiled in Starscream’s lines. Even the gentle strokes of Grimlock’s fingers over his exposed equipment was nothing more than a light buzz of pleasure. “Thank you.”   
  
“It was my pleasure.” Grimlock patted his thigh, engine rumbling and making Starscream’s frame hum. “Eventually, I will court you properly.”   
  
Starscream shifted about on his lap. “I’d say this is a pretty good start. Though if you want to keep impressing me, you can carry me into the washracks and help me get clean.” He smirked, expecting an immediate rebuttal.   
  
He did not expect Grimlock to stand, easily shifting Starscream from his lap to an embarrassing bridal carry. Starscream squawked, his arms flailing.   
  
“What are you doing?” he demanded, hands scrabbling at Grimlock’s chestplate.   
  
Grimlock looked down at him, visor glowing with amusement. “Taking you to the washracks. What else?”   
  
Starscream cycled his optics, feeling heat steal into his faceplate. “I didn’t expect you to actually do it.”   
  
“Why wouldn’t I?” Grimlock sounded genuinely confused, even as he adjusted Starscream’s weight and headed toward his private washrack.   
  
Starscream didn’t have a good answer for that. So he opted not to give one. Instead, he focused on the warmth growing in his spark, warmth that had nothing to do with his most recent overload, and everything to do with the way Grimlock treated him.   
  
Like he was important. Like he mattered. Like he was valued. _Worthy._   
  
Starscream worked his intake. He should not be touched by such a simple thing, and yet he was. He tried to imagine any of his past lovers taking care of him, and it was a laughable idea. And no, he didn’t count Megatron in that list.   
  
Megatron wasn’t one of his lovers. Megatron was a disaster. A grievous mistake.   
  
Grimlock was Megatron’s complete opposite in every way.   
  
“Starscream?”   
  
He cycled a ventilation and shook his helm. “Sorry, thoughts wandered.” He offered Grimlock a crooked grin. “Make sure you get my wing hinges, my lord. They could always use a good scrub.”   
  
Grimlock chuckled, his hands squeezing where they cradled Starscream so carefully. “Whatever you want, my Intended.”   
  
Starscream’s spark squeezed again.   
  
My Intended.   
  
More and more, he was loving the sound of it.   
  
****


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Love Me Like You Do," Ellie Goulding

Cyclonus walked into the command center, and straight into a maelstrom of anger, one strong enough that it smacked him like a physical blow.   
  
This was the first time Cyclonus had ever seen Grimlock so angry. The ire in his leader’s energy field prickled at Cyclonus’ own, making his armor clamp down defensively. He half-expected to find they were about to return to war, and one hand went to the sword he no longer carried before he caught himself.   
  
His leader’s voice poured into the command center, rattled into every nook and cranny, forcing those who listened to stand at attention, whether they were supposed to or not.   
  
“This is unacceptable, Prime!” Grimlock growled, his hands firmly clamped on the railing around the command dais.   
  
Grimlock glared at the main screen, upon which Optimus Prime could be seen. He was seated behind a desk, perhaps in his office, his hands folded in front of him. The Autobot Leader looked far healthier than the last time Cyclonus had seen him. Clearly, that week of rest and recovery had done him a fair bit of good.   
  
Or perhaps it was Soundwave’s tender care. Cyclonus had been hearing some interesting rumors, courtesy of Tailgate, who somehow managed to know everything despite being a maintenance bot and former Neutral.   
  
Optimus audibly cycled a ventilation. “You agreed to this, Grimlock. You signed the petition.” His tone was steady, unbothered. At least on the outside.   
  
Cyclonus looked closer, however, and saw the tiniest of tremors in Optimus’ fingers.   
  
“To have him arrested,” Grimlock snarled. His armor fluffed out aggressively. “To have him pay for his actions. Not to see him give a speech of pretty lies and walk away a free mech.”   
  
Oh.   
  
Cyclonus understood immediately. This was about Metalhawk. The chatter was everywhere, mechs muttering about Metalhawk’s arrest, his trial, and his punishment. If one could even call it that.   
  
On the outside, it looked as though Metalhawk had pretty much gotten away with murder. Except he hadn’t managed to succeed in assassinating anyone.   
  
“He has been stripped of his rank, and forced to publicly acknowledge the treaty,” Optimus replied, sounding strained.   
  
Cyclonus wondered how long they had been having this discussion. Though he also doubted discussion was a proper word. It looked as though Grimlock ranted while Optimus bore it with a patience he had always carried.   
  
“That punishment was decided by trial, and fits within the parameters of what we have established are suitable actions to take,” Optimus countered.   
  
“It is a farce.” The railing rattled beneath Lord Grimlock’s grip. “He tried to kill Starscream. I should have his helm as a trophy in my quarters!”   
  
Optimus sighed, and one hand rubbed at his forehelm. “The key word in your statement is ‘tried.’ We cannot punish him for a murder that was prevented.”   
  
“I see no difference,” Grimlock snapped. “This is not justice.” Beside him, Starscream was unusually silent, standing with thinned lips, and his arms crossed over his cockpit.   
  
Cyclonus was actually surprised to see their commander present. Last he heard, Starscream was restricted to berth rest, and duty so light it didn’t count as duty at all.   
  
“It is. Within the terms of a treaty that you signed,” the Prime insisted. “Ask any one of your officers if you do not believe me.”   
  
Grimlock shoved back from the railing, leaving little impressions in the metal. “It is not a matter of trust, Prime,” he spat, and began to pace, back and forth in the small space, though his visor never left the screen. “He almost killed your third. Does that mean nothing to you?”   
  
Optimus flinched, and looked more tired than before. The glow of good health seemed to fade away. He rubbed harder at his forehelm before lowering his hand.   
  
“What would you have me do?” he asked, softer this time. “Exile him? Imprison him indefinitely? Execute him?” He shook his helm, his optics dimming. “You know why we cannot.”   
  
Grimlock’s field seethed, filling the entire room, leaving no few of the remaining Decepticons to flinch. “Ever the politician, aren’t you, Optimus? Hiding behind your laws while the rest of us suffer.”   
  
“That is not what is happening here, and you know it, Grimlock,” Optimus snapped, and then blanched as though realizing he’d been driven to an emotional response. He sat back in his chair, his shoulders slumped. “His punishment is the most we can within the boundaries of the treaty.”   
  
“Then that treaty is useless,” Grimlock hissed.   
  
A rush of silence swept through the command center. Cyclonus’ own hackles raised. He took a step forward. It was not his place to denounce his leader publicly, especially in front of the leader of another faction. But he was tempted.   
  
He did not want to see another war, no matter how much he loathed Metalhawk.   
  
Optimus stared into the camera, stared at Grimlock, his gaze going nowhere else. He cycled a ventilation, his optics dimming to pale pools of blue.   
  
“Do you wish to break the treaty?” he asked. It was so quiet Cyclonus was surprised the microphone even picked up his voice.   
  
Grimlock stopped pacing. “What?”   
  
Optimus leaned forward and steepled his fingers. His tone remained calm and soft, though again, his fingers trembled. “You may demand a re-trial. You may demand compensation. Anything else is beyond the reach of the treaty. So I ask you again, Lord Grimlock, do you wish to break the treaty and return us to war?”   
  
Silence.   
  
Cyclonus held his ventilations. Both of them had a point. Having seen the treaty himself, he knew how Optimus’ hands were tied. But he also knew that Metalhawk was a disease, an infection, a symptom of what caused the war, and mechs like Metalhawk needed to be eradicated.   
  
But then… what would exiling or executing Metalhawk solve? What would it prove? Nothing save that the Decepticons were as violent and unforgiving as the Neutrals assumed them to be.   
  
“No,” Starscream said finally. “We do not.”   
  
Grimlock’s gaze whipped toward his second. He hissed a wordless admonition. But Starscream did not flinch.   
  
Instead, he stepped forward, meeting Optimus Prime’s gaze directly. “It was my spark he threatened,” Starscream continued, his wings arched and still. “Let him lose the one thing he values. Let him fade into nothing. That is enough for me.” He smirked. “And be sure he knows it was _me_ who offered him mercy.”   
  
Optimus inclined his helm, gaze shifting to their leader. “Lord Grimlock?”   
  
“I will not discard the treaty,” Grimlock gritted out, his arms folding over his chestplate. “And it would be better to end this call before I change my mind.”   
  
Optimus leaned back once more, a small sigh escaping his vents. “I understand. If you wish, we can speak again later.”   
  
“Don’t wait for my ping.” Grimlock tilted his helm toward the Decepticon on his left, signaling him to cut the feed.   
  
Optimus’ face vanished, replaced with a split-screen image of multiple locations around Iacon – notably those where paroled Decepticons were doing their duties.   
  
“You do realize that if you had discarded the treaty and opted for war, you would have given Metalhawk exactly what he wanted,” Cyclonus pointed out, the first to dare break the silence as even Starscream had not said anything.   
  
Though he was sure Starscream only bided his time. There was a calculated look on their Air Commander’s face, and he gave Grimlock a shrewd glance.   
  
Lord Grimlock turned to face him, his visor stormy. “I am aware of that,” he said testily. “That does not mean I have to like it, however.”   
  
“The treaty is not a failure,” Starscream added, shifting to lean back against the console, his frame language speaking of relaxation, but not the tight clamp of his armor. “The same terms that protect me from facing prosecution for my actions during the war, are the very same reason we cannot seek anything worse for Metalhawk.”   
  
Grimlock gave him a harsh look. “I know that as well. I am not stupid, Starscream. I understand the terms of the contract.”   
  
“Then act like you do,” Starscream retorted, just short of a snap. His wings twitched. “Don’t throw a tantrum on the command bridge because Optimus did everything he could do within the bounds of an agreement we _all_ made.”   
  
Silence.   
  
Cyclonus worked his intake, his gaze shifting to all of the Decepticons in the command center who were suddenly not paying a bit of attention to the interplay between their leaders. They were all working very hard, gazes focused on their consoles, but some of them, Cyclonus saw, looked as though they were ready to bolt.   
  
How many of them had lived under the rule of Megatron and Starscream? How many of them had sat through arguments that turned to violence in the space of a sparkbeat? How many times had they turned off their audials so they didn’t have to hear the sounds of metal against metal, or refused to turn so they wouldn’t have to see it? How many of them despaired that the cycle was about to repeat itself?  
  
“It is not a tantrum,” Grimlock finally gritted out, though some of the frenetic whirl of fury seeped out of his field. “It was a statement. We agreed to peace, and we’ll defend it, but we’ll not let ourselves be bullied until we end up back where we started.”   
  
“We.” Starscream echoed the word as though tasting it. “Have you assimilated that much? Truly become one of us, have you?” His gaze dropped pointedly to Grimlock’s chestplate, the new brand affixed on it.   
  
Primus. If Cyclonus hadn’t known that they were lovers, he wouldn’t have believed it.   
  
Grimlock tilted his chin. “I may not have begun a Decepticon, but I’ve had my fair share of discrimination. I made an oath when I took this throne, and I intend to keep it.”   
  
One wing twitched and then another. Starscream inclined his helm. “Fair enough.” He paused, looking around the command center, his gaze briefly passing over Cyclonus. “For now, I believe your shift is over, is it not, Cyclonus?”   
  
Cyclonus stepped forward now that he’d been acknowledged. “It is,” he said, capturing Grimlock’s attention in that moment. “There is also the matter of Acid Storm.”   
  
Starscream cycled his optics and pushed to his pedes. “What of him?”   
  
“Per the terms of Metalhawk’s punishment, he was surrendered to us,” Cyclonus answered. He felt, in that moment, the tension creeping out of the room as the surrounding Decepticons relaxed. “He is in the brig as we speak.”   
  
“Then the treaty was not so useless after all,” Grimlock said, something of triumph gleaming in his visor. He tossed a glance to Starscream. “Should we have a talk with him?”   
  
Cyclonus stepped up between them, logging into the command console and registering himself as on-duty. “Sunstorm is there now, but otherwise, he’s not going anywhere.”   
  
“Good to know.” Starscream pushed off the console, the picture of ease. “Thank you, Cyclonus. Let us know if you need anything?”   
  
“Will do.”   
  
He pretended not to watch as his two leaders left the room, though his exterior sensors were trained on them. He suspected there would be another discussion, beyond the optics and audials of the rank and file. Cyclonus had no wish to be a spy on that wall.   
  
Still.   
  
Perhaps the cycle had been broken after all.   
  


~

  
  
“You are still angry,” Starscream said, quietly, as they walked down the hall, heading for the brig. Fatigue tugged at him, but he refused to remain confined to his habsuite.   
  
He was mobile. He could do datawork. He could oversee. He simply couldn’t do any of the heavy lifting. Which was fine. Grimlock hovered over his shoulder so much that he could do anything heavy.   
  
Grimlock rumbled at him, his gaze focused on the corridor ahead of them. Yet, he didn’t seem to notice the soldiers that scurried out of their path. Starscream wouldn’t call it fear in their fields, but it was a near thing.   
  
Megatron had often taken his anger out on the nearest soldier, whether that soldier had been the one to cause his fury or not. Decepticons had long ago learned to be wary of the anger belonging to any leader.   
  
“Not at you,” Grimlock replied, terse.   
  
Starscream folded his arms over his cockpit. “You owe Optimus an apology.”   
  
Grimlock slammed to a halt and whirled to face him, looming without trying. Starscream would be lying if he said he didn’t flinch. That for a moment, his spark rippled with unease. All he saw was a shadow, a darkness, falling over him, and his first instinct was to drop to his knees and beg. He didn’t even know what he’d done, but the words were there, on the tip of his glossa.   
  
Until he remembered this was Grimlock, and not Megatron, and Grimlock had never hurt him.   
  
Then again….   
  
Megatron had never hurt him up until a certain point.   
  
“For what?” Grimlock demanded.   
  
Starscream held his ground, staring up at his leader, and his lover. He had not let Megatron cow him, at least not until the end. He would not let Grimlock bully him either. He could still walk away.   
  
“You are lucky that argument was over a vid-call and not in person. Think for a moment how that would have been from Optimus’ point of view.”   
  
Or mine, he almost added, but held back at the last moment.   
  
A large mech. A dangerous mech. Growling and fierce. Decepticon brand so bright on the chestplate. Angry and determined. Unwilling to take ‘no’ for an answer. Threatening violence and retribution.   
  
Grimlock ex-vented harshly. He leaned back. “I am not Megatron,” he said, proving that he was no idiot.   
  
He’d connected the dots quickly enough.   
  
“I know that.” Starscream gave him a sidelong look. “Optimus knows that. But there are moments where it is easy to forget.”   
  
For himself, who had suffered for millennia. And for Optimus, who had spent weeks in Megatron’s control, reduced to nothing but a toy for Megatron’s pleasure.   
  
Grimlock’s shoulders slumped. He reached up and rubbed at his forehelm, above his visor. “You’re right.”   
  
“I know I am.” Starscream glanced around them, saw they were alone, and stepped forward, grabbing Grimlock’s free hand. He gave it a squeeze. “It is nothing a private apology won’t fix.”   
  
Grimlock squeezed his hand in return. “I will contact him later.” He peered down at Starscream. “Do I ever frighten you?”   
  
“No.” Starscream shook his helm. Little white lies never hurt anyone. “At least, not on purpose. There are some things that take time. It’s not your fault.”   
  
“Perhaps. But I don’t intend to make it worse.” Grimlock tugged Starscream into a brief embrace before releasing him. “At least Acid Storm’s punishment is something I do have a say in.”   
  
Starscream nodded and moved past Grimlock, taking the lead as they continued toward the brig. “Yes, but I’d suggest holding judgment until we hear his motives. Perhaps it is all a misunderstanding.”   
  
“You don’t accidentally pass someone a deadly virus, Starscream.”   
  
His reply was a non-committal noise. He didn’t want to pass judgment on Acid Storm until he’d learned all the facts. Seekers were rare as it was, and Starscream did not want to lose another. Nor did he want to appear a bloodthirsty leader bent on vengeance.  
  
Vengeance, after all, was what had taken their war so far.   
  
When they arrived, Scourge was on duty. He nodded a greeting to them. “I suspect you’re here for Acid Storm?” he asked.   
  
Starscream cycled a ventilation, bracing himself. There was a niggle in his tank, one he didn’t want to name anxiety, but perhaps that is what it was. “Yes. Is Sunstorm with him?”   
  
“Just got here. They’re in Interrogation Two. Want me to ping him?”   
  
“No,” Grimlock said. “Let them finish. We’ll wait.”   
  
“Yes, sir.” Scourge settled back behind the monitoring station, his optics drifting over the various displays. “Do you wish to see anyone else?”   
  
“Just Acid Storm for now. Are any of the others kicking up a fuss?” Grimlock replied.   
  
Starscream didn’t linger. He’d let Grimlock handle the minutiae. For now, he wanted to see what Acid Storm had to say when he thought only Sunstorm was listening.   
  
He left them to their discussion of the remaining brigged Decepticons. Less than Starscream had hoped, but still too many mechs loyal to Megatron. A blind loyalty, he snorted. What was Megatron doing for them now?   
  
Starscream found the appropriate room and peered in through the two-way mirror. Only Acid Storm and Sunstorm were within, the former shackled to the table. He looked in remarkable health, even polished to a gleaming shine. Apparently, he’d been doing very well for himself in Nova Cronum.   
  
Starscream keyed his code into the surveillance system and activated the microphone. Perhaps not the most ethical thing to do, but he suspected Acid Storm would not talk to him where he might be willing to talk to his trinemate.   
  
“Misfire is here,” Sunstorm was saying, his voice gentle. Starscream often found Sunstorm a cold mech, but here, his vocals were warm. Affectionate. “I’ve been courting him.”   
  
Acid Storm snorted and shifted on his chair. “That idiot?” He shook his helm, disdain set into his features. “I’d rather have no trine then settle for whatever scrap your lord and master managed to dig out of the morass.”   
  
“That’s unfair, Acid Storm.”   
  
“A lot of things are,” Acid Storm gritted out, and fixed his former trinemate with a glare. “You may be willing to bow and pay lip service to that beast who leads us, but I’m not. He’s an Autobot in disguise.”   
  
Sunstorm leaned forward, his wings flicking. From this position, Starscream could not see his face unfortunately.   
  
“Perhaps we could use a little Autobot sentiment,” Sunstorm said. “It is better than Megatron sending us into the slaughter as though we are nothing but drones.”   
  
“Which would not have happened if our Air Commander had protected us, as he was meant to do!” Acid Storm snapped.   
  
Starscream’s spark clenched. He folded his arms, his gaze focused on Acid Storm, for this here, was the spark of the matter. This much he knew. It was not about Megatron or Grimlock. It was personal.   
  
“It is not that simple,” Sunstorm said, quietly.   
  
“It is,” Acid Storm insisted, and his hands clenched into fists. “It always has been. I do not understand how you can follow him when he has done nothing but lead us into one disaster after another!”   
  
Sunstorm leaned forward, his palms flat on the table. “I follow him because I believe that despite it all, he has always wanted what was best for us.”   
  
“Then you are a fool.” Acid Storm snorted, his face twisted with disgust. “Starscream cares for nothing but himself.”  
  
“One might argue that you do the same, considering how you tried to murder him, and then fled rather than face the consequences of your actions,” Sunstorm retorted, and his voice was cold. Gone from it was the affection that lingered for his trinemate.   
  
Acid Storm sneered. “I did what I thought was necessary for all of us. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make.”   
  
“Yet, not enough of one to remain behind and fight for what you felt we deserved or needed. You could have been a voice for change, Acid Storm. You could have helped me.” Sunstorm shook his helm and leaned back, his voice dropping into something pained. “We could have done this together.”   
  
“Not with Starscream in charge,” Acid Storm insisted, venom in his tone. “I don’t trust him. I never will. He turned on us when he made us bow to Megatron, and then he turned on Megatron, too. He’s turned on everyone who ever trusted him. Eventually, he’ll turn on you, too.”   
  
Starscream worked his intake, unable to swallow over the lump in his intake. There was nothing but truth in Acid Storm’s words. He couldn’t hear whatever Sunstorm said in reply, not over the rush in his audials, the truth so blatant and terrible in front of him.   
  
Starscream was no idiot, neither was he naive. He had known for quite some time that despite his efforts, few respected him and even fewer trusted him. He often wondered if he would drown under the weight of his failures, until he dragged himself back into the light, refusing to keep to the shadows where they placed him.   
  
Still. It never became easier to hear the truth. He told himself it did not hurt. He was used to it. He still believed if he repeated himself often enough, the lie would become truth.   
  
Movement from his peripheral vision alerted him to Grimlock’s presence. Starscream did not know how long he’d been standing there, but knowing his luck, probably long enough.   
  
Starscream cycled a ventilation and hunched his shoulders. “Well,” he said as he muted the conversation. “He’s not wrong.”   
  
Grimlock stepped closer, until their armor brushed. “He is. He’s a child who knows nothing of the sacrifices you’ve made.”   
  
“Because I made it a point not to show them.” Starscream’s gaze remained on the two in the room, Acid Storm full of righteous fury. Sunstorm, wings tilted with disappointment and regret.   
  
“And it doesn’t matter what I sacrificed, because he’s right. I led my Seekers to the slaughter, and I left them here to be Shockwave’s toys.”   
  
Grimlock’s field buzzed against his, warm with comfort. “That was not your intention.”   
  
“Do the humans not have a saying? The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Starscream quoted, and shook his helm. “No. Acid Storm has every right to despise me, to wish me dead. I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t trust me either.”   
  
“I trust you.”   
  
He said it so easily. Of course he would. Grimlock had no idea.   
  
Starscream gave him a long, sardonic look. “And you’re a fool for it.”   
  
Grimlock turned toward him, one hand reaching toward Starscream’s face. He cupped it so gently, tilting Starscream up to look at him. There was nothing in his visor but determination.   
  
“I trust you,” he repeated, slowly. Carefully. “Because you trust me. Because we are two mechs society has consistently told would be worth nothing. And yet, here we are, kings on a throne. Rebuilding our planet. Together.”   
  
We. Us. Together.   
  
Words Megatron never seemed to know.   
  
Starscream worked his intake. He searched for words, but had none to offer in the face of that genuine honesty. Nothing he could say here in public. Nothing he dared yet admit.   
  
The door to the interrogation room opened. Grimlock’s hand fell away from his face, and Starscream instantly mourned the loss of warmth. Yet they both turned to greet Sunstorm, who didn’t look surprised to see him.   
  
“Did you come to interrogate him?” Sunstorm asked, his face carefully schooled of expression.   
  
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Starscream admitted, finding his poise and draping it over himself. He gestured to the window. “However, judging by what little of that I caught, it won’t do any good.”   
  
Sunstorm inclined his helm. “Yes. He despises you, Starscream. I do not think that is going to change.”   
  
“I thought as much.”   
  
Sunstorm’s gaze shifted to Grimlock. “What will you do with him, sir?” He moved toward the window, looking in at his former trinemate. “An assassination attempt on Megatron would have been met with public execution.”   
  
“I am not Megatron,” Grimlock rumbled. “And as my second reminds me, my spark was not the one threatened.”   
  
Starscream shook his helm. “I cannot deny that Acid Storm’s distaste for me is justified. More than that, I know that there are those who share his opinion. They just haven’t spoken up.”   
  
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Sunstorm said.   
  
Starscream glanced into the room. Acid Storm stared boldly at the window, as though he knew they stood there, debating his fate.   
  
“Was he happy in Nova Cronum?” Starscream asked.   
  
“You cannot be serious,” Grimlock growled.   
  
Sunstorm sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “He was courting two Neutral Seekers. He would have a trine if you sent him there.”   
  
“You seek to _reward_ him?” Grimlock demanded.   
  
“No.” Starscream shook his helm. “A reward would have been to surrender my title to Acid Storm and exile myself. That would have been a victory to Acid Storm.”   
  
“You are within your rights to execute him,” Sunstorm pointed out, though it must have pained him to do so. “If he had challenged you directly, it would be a different story.”   
  
Starscream knew all this. Internally, he raged and boiled. There was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to storm into that room and put two blaster shots into Acid Storm. Helm and spark.   
  
He would take great satisfaction in watching Acid Storm turn grey. It would certainly send a strong message to his opponents. Starscream would not take attempts on his life lightly. He was their Air Commander for a reason.   
  
If they were still at war, Starscream might not have even hesitated.   
  
Times were different now. They labored under peace. He needed his Seekers. He needed their loyalty. He needed to be a different Starscream than the one who had bowed and scraped to Megatron. He needed to change, and he couldn’t do that if he kept falling back into the same old patterns.  
  
“Let him stew for now,” Starscream said. Because when he looked through that mirror, at a mech bitter and afraid, he felt only pity. “Let him believe all kinds of ill things about me. Let him think he is going to die.”   
  
“And then?”   
  
Starscream cycled a ventilation. “And then send him back to Nova Cronum. He can be the Neutrals’ mess. Put a No Travel glyph on his designation. He can never come back.”  
  
“It is to be exile then,” Sunstorm said, his tone perfectly neutral.   
  
“Exile or execution,” Starscream said. “I am not about to let him wander freely around Iacon holding such hatred in his spark. And it is not logical to keep him locked up for long. It is tantamount to torture.”   
  
Grimlock shifted his weight. “That would be fair to you?”   
  
Starscream inclined his helm. “It is the best possible solution to be found right now. Anything else might alienate the rest of the Seekers toward my leadership.”   
  
“You have a point.” Sunstorm’s wings flicked, first one and then the other. “Thank you, Starscream. He’s a fool and an idiot besides, but he was once my trinemate. I flew beside him for centuries.”   
  
Starscream tilted his helm in a nod. “There is that factor to consider as well. Are you truly courting Misfire?”   
  
“Yes. I had hoped to do so with Acid Storm at my side, but clearly that avenue is lost to me.” Sunstorm folded his arms over his chestplate. “If Misfire agrees, then we’ll have to continue the search for a third together.”   
  
“I wish you luck,” Starscream said. “Hopefully, our people will begin responding to the beacons and return. Surely, there is someone for you out there.”   
  
“One can only hope.” Sunstorm dipped his helm toward Grimlock. “Sir. If you’ll both excuse me, I am going to go share this information with those who are willing to listen.”   
  
“Dismissed,” Grimlock replied.   
  
They watched Sunstorm go, resignation the strongest of emotions in the yellow Seeker’s field. But he was a strong Seeker, strong enough to succeed Starscream some day. Sunstorm would be fine.   
  
As for Acid Storm… Starscream glanced in at the querulous Seeker once more, but Acid Storm’s expression had not changed. He still looked as if he wished he could shoot lasers from his optics.   
  
They would leave him alone for now then.   
  
“That’s twice today you’ve offered someone mercy,” Grimlock commented.   
  
Starscream straightened his shoulders and fell in step beside his Intended. “Maybe some of the Autobot in you rubbed off on me.”   
  
Grimlock barked a laugh. “Must’ve been all of it. I never had much to begin with.”   
  
“Perhaps.” Starscream’s lips twitched. “You’re off shift now, and so am I. What say you we return to my habsuite.” He paused and amended it with, “Our habsuite.”   
  
“Ours, hm?” Grimlock took Starscream’s nearest hand and gave it a squeeze. “I like the sound of that. Though of course--”  
  
Starscream held up a hand. “There will be days you bunk with your brothers, yes, I know. Just as there will be days I will share a berth with Skywarp and Thundercracker, though platonically.”   
  
“Right.” Grimlock pulled his hand up and pressed Starscream’s knuckles to his mouthplate, the warmth of his frame tangible through it. “Then shall we return to our suite?”   
  
Starscream worked his intake, warmth filtering through his spark. “Yes.”   
  


~

  
  
Knock Out stood up from his chair and stretched his arms over his helm, trying to ignore the ache in his backstrut and in his helm. He’d not been built for crouching over a datapad, trying to cram as much information into his processor as possible. But if Breakdown wanted to learn, Knock Out intended to teach him. And Knock Out couldn’t teach if he didn’t know himself.   
  
Thus the refresher course. Thus the wobble in his optics. Thus the desperate need for energon, coolant, and – Knock Out looked down at himself, at the drab state of his armor – and definitely a wash and polish.   
  
Perhaps not even in that order. There was a scratch on his right thigh, and he could not, for the spark of him, remember how it had gotten there. It was unacceptable.   
  
Knock Out circled around his desk in an office that could use more than a little organizing, and palmed open his door, fighting off a wave of fatigue. As the door opened, two containers full of liquid appeared in front of optics: one blue, one pink.   
  
He blinked.   
  
One was coolant, one was energon. Little flakes of his favorite flavor bobbed in the energon. The coolant blend was one specifically for racing frames.   
  
He blinked again.   
  
Each container was held aloft by a different hand. Breakdown held the energon; Snarl held the coolant.   
  
“Him Knock Out hiding in office forever,” Snarl said, urging the coolant closer to him, looming without trying as he was both taller and heavier than both grounders.   
  
“You work too hard,” Breakdown agreed with a smile, nudging the energon closer as well.   
  
Knock Out felt compelled to take both, too flummoxed to do otherwise. “You are off shift,” he informed Snarl. “And you are supposed to be scrubbing the surgery ward,” he said to Breakdown.   
  
“Don’t have shifts,” Snarl retorted.   
  
“I finished already,” Breakdown said.   
  
“Well then, why are you here?” Knock Out asked, the scent of both fluids calling to him. He didn’t know which he wanted to indulge in first, and had to admit, he was touched that both were looking out for him.   
  
The two mechs exchanged glances, which Knock Out was not sure he appreciated. It seemed conspiratorial. Had they been making friends when he wasn’t looking?   
  
“You,” they answered, in tandem.   
  
Knock Out’s mouth opened and then shut. He honestly wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. “You need tasks?” he asked. “Cause I can certainly find some. There’s a whole storage bin full of broken tech, and plenty of scavenged parts to scrub.”   
  
“Or we could help you,” Breakdown suggested instead. “I’m pretty handy with a buffer.”   
  
“Me Snarl have good wax,” the Dinobot added, digging something out of his subspace and showing it to Knock Out. It was indeed a tin of wax, high quality stuff no less.   
  
Knock Out arched an orbital ridge. “And you are both offering to… assist me?”   
  
They nodded in unison. How peculiar. Still, the offer of two sets of hands was one Knock Out would not take lightly. Many hands made for light work, after all, and there were spots on his back he still could not reach properly.   
  
“Very well,” Knock Out said. “When my shift is over, I will accept your offer. Until then...” He made shooing motions with his occupied hands. “Breakdown, give me an inventory of the supplies in the operating theater. Snarl, fix something.”   
  
“Whatever you say, sir,” Breakdown said with a beaming smile.   
  
“Me Snarl fix broken capacitor,” Snarl added with a toothy grin.   
  
The two idiots shared another glance, bumped fists, and turned to amble off. Leaving Knock Out to blink at their afts, still holding a container of energon in one hand and a flagon of coolant in the other.   
  
Odd. Just plain odd.   
  
He shook his helm and returned to his office. The sooner he got his work done, the sooner he could jet out the door when Spinister showed up for a shift he had assured Knock Out he could cover. After which Knock Out would allow himself to be pampered in the washracks.   
  
All in all, not too bad of an afternoon.   
  


~

  
  
“You know what this place needs?” Brawl asked as he leaned back in the chair, wriggling his aft to make himself comfortable.   
  
Why did the Dinobots have all the best slag? Where did it all come from? And why wasn’t Swin acquiring this stuff for the Combaticons? He was seriously slacking in his acquiring duties.   
  
“No? What?” Slag asked as he reached across the table between them so that they could tap their energon cubes together.   
  
Weird Earth custom. Brawl had grown to like it. Sometimes, it was fun to slam their cubes together as hard as they could to see if they would break. Made a mess. Onslaught bitched. Swoop squawked at them. Fun times.   
  
“A bar.” Brawl settled back into the chair and fished around in the cushion for the remote he knew was stashed here. Unless Slag had it. “Y’know. A good selection of engex. Some tunes. A beat to dance to maybe. A place to hang out. That kind of thing.”   
  
“Ohhhh.” Slag nodded slowly and pulled out the remote, giving Brawl a toothy grin.   
  
Damn it. He who had the remote picked the movie. It was the rule they had both decided on. Oh well, at least Slag had good taste. Well, when he wasn’t in a random romantic mood.   
  
“That nice. Good idea,” Slag said, clicking the vidscreen on.   
  
Brawl pulled out his auto-injector and plunked it into the cube. He envied Slag his mouth in that moment. He bet this stuff tasted good. This was supposed to be some quality high grade. Not the best, but better than the swill Astrotrain used to brew in the Victory’s basement.   
  
“Yep. Maybe I can poke Swin.” He shrugged, rattling his treads. “See if he can sponsor someone to get one going.”   
  
Slag clicked through the options and settled on an action movie from Earth – something with lots of explosion and death and a rocking soundtrack. Good choice.   
  
“It good plan,” Slag said, slurping down more of his energon.   
  
“Yup.” Brawl wriggled his aft, propped one pede on the table and made himself comfortable. “Sure is. Wanna spar later?”   
  
Slag snorted a laugh. “So you Brawl lose again?”   
  
“Hey, I’ve won at least half the time!”  
  
“Lost other half.” Slag sounded smug as he gave Brawl another one of those toothy grins. “Me Slag kick you Brawl’s aft after movie.”   
  
Brawl grumbled subvocally. “We’ll see about that.”  
  
Slag’s grin only widened  
  


~

  
  
Grimlock knew, from the moment Starscream climbed into his lap, that recharge was not what his Intended had in mind. Which was fortunate, because Grimlock didn’t want to recharge either. He had things he wanted to say, and now was as good a time as any to say them.  
  
“Mm, that’s better,” Starscream said, his thighs bracketing Grimlock’s waist, his aft nestled quite firmly on Grimlock’s pelvis, directly above his quickly heating panel.   
  
“Is it now?” Amusement leeched into Grimlock’s tone. He cupped Starscream’s aft with one hand, and let the other curve around his Intended’s waist. He tugged Starscream even closer. “I’m still not sure this is medically advisable.”   
  
“Pah. I’m fine.” Starscream’s glossa flicked over his lips. “A little pleasure won’t hurt me.”   
  
Grimlock rolled his hips, grinding his panel against Starscream’s aft. “There’s nothing little about this.”   
  
The Seeker burst into laughter. “I wasn’t referring to the size of your equipment.” He draped his arms over Grimlock’s shoulders. “Though I do appreciate your girth.”   
  
“I appreciate your appreciation.” Grimlock’s engine rumbled. He pressed his forehelm to Starscream’s, loosing his field so that it wrapped around them both. “But first, can we talk?”   
  
Starscream’s field chilled. He leaned back, his optics searching Grimlock’s visor. “That is never a good sign,” he said, his armor clamping tight. “Is this the part where we continue to argue over my decision not to rain fire and brimstone on Metalhawk and Acid Storm?”   
  
Grimlock shook his helm, projecting as much calm and affection into his field as he possibly could. “No. It has nothing to do with either of those decisions. I get that they were the better choices.”   
  
“Good.” Starscream gave him a wary glance, his field drawing even further inward. “Then it must be about us.”   
  
“It is.”   
  
Starscream frowned, his hands sliding away from where they’d joined behind Grimlock’s neck to rest on his shoulders. “Do I want distance for this?”   
  
“No, not at all.” He hated the quiver in Starscream’s field. It made him loathe Megatron all over again. “In fact, I’d prefer as much closeness as possible.”   
  
Grimlock tugged him closer, until their chestplates pressed together, and he could feel the distant thrum of Starscream’s spark. The hand curved around Starscream’s waist moved until it cupped the back of Starscream’s helm. He pressed their forehelms together so Starscream could look nowhere but into his visor.   
  
“I adore you,” Grimlock said.   
  
Starscream worked his intake. “I gathered as much,” he said dryly, some of the tension sifting out of his field, though his armor remained clamped. “It does, however, sound like there is a ‘but’ somewhere in there.”   
  
“Stop putting words into my mouth,” Grimlock said. “Just listen to what I’m trying to say before you make any negative assumptions.”   
  
Starscream’s optics briefly shuttered. He cycled a ventilation, in and out. “All right,” he said, and his optics unshuttered.   
  
Grimlock performed a systems check and brushed his thumb over Starscream’s cheek. “I adore you,” he repeated, because it was the truth. “Right now we are courting, and if that’s all there ever is to it, I will be content. But I want you to know, if you’ll let me, I’ll have you as my conjunx someday.”   
  
Starscream’s optics widened. His mouth opened, but no words emerged. His hands twitched where they rested on Grimlock’s shoulders.   
  
“How can you know that?” he finally asked. “How can you possibly know that. You barely know me.”   
  
“I know enough. I know that there’s nothing in your spark that will surprise me.” He leaned back so that he could look into Starscream’s optics, letting his fingers stroke around Starscream’s face. “It doesn’t have to be now. It doesn’t have to be soon. It doesn’t have to be ever. I’m willing to wait until you’re ready.”   
  
Starscream’s helm tilted into his hold. “That could be a very long time, Grimlock. I’m not… well, I’m pretty damaged.”   
  
“Aren’t we all.” Grimlock pressed his mouthplate to Starscream’s forehelm, projecting as much affection into his field as he could. “I want you as you are, not as you will be. I noticed you before you changed, Star. I noticed you a long time ago.”   
  
Starscream’s hands slid down, curving around Grimlock’s torso as he leaned forward, tucking his helm under Grimlock’s jaw. “The things you say,” he murmured, but given the shiver of warmth in his field, it was not borne of anger.   
  
“I mean them.”   
  
“I think I’m starting to believe that you do.” Starscream pressed close, their chestplates in contact, until Grimlock could count each of his sparkpulses. “If you’re willing to wait, then I’m willing to see where we go.”   
  
Grimlock’s hand slid back around Starscream’s frame, gently stroking beneath his wing hinges. “I’m willing.”   
  
“Good.” Starscream shifted, rising up on his knees to press a brief kiss to Grimlock’s mouthplate, his optics dark with need. “Until then...” He paused to roll his hips, grinding his panel against Grimlock’s armor. “I believe you interrupted me earlier.”   
  
Grimlock chuckled. “Indeed I did.” The hand cupping Starscream’s aft slid around to cup Starscream’s array, rubbing gently over his protective panel. “Any requests, my Intended?”   
  
“Make me scream,” Starscream purred.   
  
“Mmm.” Grimlock’s engine rumbled as Starscream’s field finally slid against his, buzzing and hot. “Gladly.”   
  
He held Starscream tightly and bore him down to the berth, his hands roaming wherever they could reach. It may indeed be centuries before he and Starscream would ever officially be mates, but Grimlock was willing to wait. He had all he ever wanted here and now.   
  
A little waiting never hurt anyone.   
  


****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and commenting. I can't express my gratitude enough for all of the wonderful comments people have left. 
> 
> There will be another part of the series, a five years later oneshot, and then if I can manage, a longer piece that takes place much further in the series, too. There's still a lot of story left to tell. :)
> 
> Thank you so much for everything!

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always welcome and appreciated, along with constructive critique. I always self-edit, so if you notice a typo, I'm not offended if you point it out to me. Thank you for reading!


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